Memories Part 1

Just some memories from my childhood. Also my first attempt at a story, so be kind... but honest..lol

We lived in a small seaside village, where mostly lobster fisherman resided all year round, or wealthy people kept there vacation homes. As it was in the warmer climates it was considered the place to go for school vacations and in summer the population swelled from 85 to over 500. 

 

The beauty of the village was in it's refusal to develop into a seaside resort. Where towering apartments would destroy the vista's of the 180 degree views of the Indian Ocean in it's vivid and crystal blue waters. Where white sparkling sandy beaches which stretched as far as the eye could see and where clear blue skies with fluffy white clouds drifted slowly by, in the warm summer days.

 

Most houses were perched carefully along the beach with large yards that overlooked the beach. Everyone had there own personal beach access via salt eroded wooden stairs that vanished into the beach sand that attempted to consume it.

 

On one particular summer day, with all our chores completed, Mum sent us out of the house to leave her in peace to complete her many and unending chores before dad returned from another day of Lobster Fishing, a hard, yet profitable business in those days.

 

At 8 years of age I was the youngest in our large family with my best friend, fellow conspirator and adventurer Alan. My brother and yet my nemisis (on some occasions). He was a wise and much more worldly 10 years old. We did everything together and this is one of those days.....

 

As was usually the case, Alan would dictate how we would pass the day with his choice of games or dangerous escapades. I was never consulted just expected to follow along and being a tomboy myself I was usually happy to comply with his much more exciting idea's.

 

Today Alan, decided that we would go fishing, he was very eager to grow up and work along side dad on the lobster boat. For someone so young he had extensive knowledge of all things fish related. So today it was fishing. We dragged out his pride and joy, the 10 foot long, fibreglass canoe in a seagreen colour that was given to him on his last birthday. Two paddles came with the gift but of course, being Alan he added his personal touches.

 

The name painted on the bow was ceremoniously added before a small Blessing (as was the custom for European fisherfolk) and with a small glass bottle of water tipped over the rim and bow, we had our "Sharkeater" as he named it. Very ambitious of him considering any shark sighted in these waters outweighed our little craft by 100lbs and in length by over 3 feet, but these weren't things we considered at that age.

 

Alan also added his own anchor, one of dad's old little ones that he would never miss and his own supply box. This included (frighteningly) old (and probably dangerous) flares from dad's old survival gear, whistles and flourescent lifejackets. Spare fishing tackle, a dangerous looking knife and scaling equipment, a cutting board and some old lead sinkers, coils of rope and fishing line. Mostly what little boys considered their prized possessions.

 

With a shout to Mum that we were off and a hastily prepared lunch of vegemite and cheese sandwiches, bottled raspberry flavoured cordial and some fruit we dragged and pulled our "boat" down the beach stairs and across the wide expanse of glaring white beach sand.

 

We reached the waters edge and Alan, ever watchful of his baby sister, bade me enter the canoe and carefully positioned our goodies, tackle box, and his survival box around me to ensure even distribution. At this time he also checked my lifejacket was securely and correctly tied around my chest, despite my exasperated sigh as I was well aware of how to tie such a mundane item. I was excited and raring to be off, as it was not often he let me accompany him on his fishing trips.

 

I wondered dreamily how far we would go as I waited for him to check last minute details. Like making sure the paddles were tied to the canoe with short strings so they wouldn't float away and making sure the anchor rope was untangled. His father's son in every way.

 

I looked expectantly out to the small and in my young eyes, distant land on the horizon which was in fact a small island not more than 5km's from shore. I wondered what kind of land creatures lived there and asked Alan. He said there were mostly gulls and birds nesting all year round and due to the large amount of nesting sights it was a smelly place to go. Sometimes he said, there had been spotted some seals and penguins exhausted from their long migration south to cooler oceans.

 

He didn't comment further on my expectations that we were  headed or not, to this fantastical Island in my sights and so pushed off the canoe from the sucking wet sand of the shore. Making several running steps along side he jumped in at the back Startled by the sudden dip in the canoe to the left and back, I instinctively gripped the sides and leaned forward and to the right to compensate. As a fisherman's daughter this is one of the first lessons you learn in small craft, so I wasnt worried just caught unawares.

 

Alan handed me my paddle and together we started heading straight out to sea, over the small breakers and into calmer and much clearer waters. Each dip of the paddle on either side, the two-ended wooden paddles were not heavy, but they weren't as light as the new aluminium one's we'd seen some of the "partimers" use. This is what we called the summer holiday kids who turned up each summer without fail.

 

It was a companiable silence. Looking back now I suppose the reason Alan tolerated my company was because I wasn't a chatterbox but enjoyed the sun on my face, the cool water dribbling down my arms from the paddles and the vista's around us. The gentle slapping of the waves as the bow broke through the sea ahead of us. The occasional curious gull circling our little craft to see if we had anything that could be stolen to eat.

 

Much sooner than I expected and to my great disappointment my brother told me we were "here". Here? but I wanted to go to the Island! We had barely covered a third of the distance and our house was still in full view behind us. What kind of adventure is this????? When I turned to complain Alan informed me that under dad's instructions he was not to take me beyond the anchorage of the fishing fleet and sure enough there we were. So much for his adventurous side, I thought in disgust. But what I didn't know at the time, was my fathers most specific description of what he would do to Alan if he allowed me to be hurt or frightened in any way.

 

In any case he carefully stored our paddles along side our thighs, one on each side. This would be a good time to state that our little canoe had no seats, so we sat cross legged on the bottom, where sometimes the salty water would cause our bare toes to wrinkle and my bottom to go numb. Yet the surface, kept cool by the water it rode on was comfortable enough for a couple of youngins. :) He grabbed the anchor and rope it was attached to and threw the anchor a short distance away and to my right. He explained it was a sea anchor which drags along the sand below until it gets caught up in the deep. With the current and breeze blowing slightly to shore and down the coast, we would drift slowly away from home but always heading in land.

 

One thing I always felt, was my trust in my brothers knowledge of the sea and his caution with anything nautical. Drilled into us day, after night, after day by dad and his fishing cronies, " the sea is a fical mistress (whatever that means) and sometimes she love you and some time she don't" . Yeah, ok whatever.

 

Alan insisted on baiting my hook, I stuck my chin out, folded my arms and sulked. I sure knew how to do it myself! I was proud of my fishing knowledge. Everything dad had taught me and I had practiced. I knew how to twist a piece of mum's best raw rump roast around the tiny hook...

 

Alan!! You took mum's roast? She's going to kill you, she was making this for tonight's dinner, are u crazy?

 

Only took a little bit Sis, mum won't notice and it was the only thawed meat in the fridge, it's only till we catch our first fish then we'll use that for bait.

 

He handed me my line, with the little baited hooked, the lead sinker attached about 10 inches higher on the line then the remainder of the fishing line wrapped around an old piece of wood, which is how we roll, you know... :P

 

Handline fishing was my favourite pastime.  I had never even seen a fishing rod up close till I was much older and I was not a fan and am not a fan to this day. Nothing like feeling the small nibbles of a curious and hungry fish through the fine tension of a fishing line clasped in your fingers.

 

I had a surprise for Alan, I had stolen some of mum's boiled potatoes from last nights stew and was shoving them into my mouth to make a mash. Which I then proceeded to spray into the ocean near our lines in a ..actually quite messy and unprofessional spit that in no way resembled my mothers expert way of delivering "burly" to our curious diners.

 

I ended up with potato in my hair, on my tshirt, my shorts and arms and some even managed to hit Alan in the face. Uh oh. I gulped, looking at him sheepishly. His face was stone as he picked the potato of his face carefully while staring at me. I giggled, I couldn't help it. The great hunter... He laughed himself, finally letting go of his serious and responsible side and joining me in laughter. The brother I adored and looked up to with awe.

 

A sudden yank of the line in my hand and I was tugging back hard, my line grew taut.  I had a fish! I yelped in excitement and started pulling carefully but steadily at the line, bringing the wet line onto my lap as I pulled my first catch of the day to the surface. It was a good sized whiting, silvery scales, pale skinned and yellow tips on the tale and fins. A tasty small boned fish which was abundantly in supply in these clear waters and was wonderful on a grill with lemon and salt or butter.

 

I grabbed the line for the final pull over the side and my catch was slapping around near my toes, almost gobbling my pinkie in its struggle. Alan grabbed the fish barehanded and deftly pulled it free of the hook, the bait was still there! It was a good size but it was decided it would be chopped up for more bait. My first catch, so unfair, I wanted mum to see it.

 

We settled down to a steady run of catches, mostly size but some had to be thrown back in as they were small. The sun beating down gently on our heads, we never wore hats in those days, and our sunburn was not considered dangerous either so we rarely used sunscreen. Being of olive skin it was normal to end a summer with a dark tan and sun bleached streaks of blonde through our hair.

 

Finally hunger made me recall the sandwiches and with fishy fingers I pulled out a sandwich for each of us, gulped down some cordial and bit into an apple. I was getting bored now. It's fun for 2 hours but with Alan it's a mission to catch every fish in the sea.

 

I finally started whining that I wanted to go home, go swimming, go to the toilet, go shower, anything to get out of there. Some of the fishing boats had started returning with the mornings catch. With a sigh of relief from me, Alan finally agreed as dad was due to return soon and we wanted to clean our catch before he came home.

 

Fish were counted, 27 in all! Stored in a plastic bucket with a lid and a little water, anchor weighed and the paddle back to shore. By this time the wind had picked up a little and we had drifted some distance from our part of the beach. So in order not to have to paddle too long we pulled into the shore and walked the canoe along the water till we got home.

 

Along the way I spotted in the clear water below us a glint of something buried in the sand. Without thought for safety and with a flash of greed, thinking it was pirate coins, I shoved my little fingers in the sand. I immediately felt a surge of pain, with a scream I flung my hand into the air. I looked in shock at the (large in my eyes) sand crab attached by its large claw to the nail and tip of my pinkie finger on my left hand.

 

Alan splashed over amid my screams of pain and fear and grabbed my arm slapping the crab away from it's grip, This garnered another scream, as the flesh on my finger tore away with its claw. Screaming and crying I clenched my fist tight, not allowing him to see, afraid my finger was gone. The blood started flowing down my wrist and plopping into the water, I felt faint.

 

Dragging the canoe to the sand, Alan grabbed my other arm. He raced me home, up the stairs, across the back yard, and into the house, bellowing for mum in fear of reprisal, I'm sure.  Finally, with some little coaxing on her part, mum was finally able to examine my wound, and sure enough my little finger nail was torn in two. My finger throbbed and swelled from the pain. Needless to say I survived, pinky intact, but as I look now in memory, I can still see the pale little scar on the back on my pinky where the "one that got away" got me but good.

 

Just one of our many adventures....

 

Author's Note

While my memories are still vivid in my mind, some of this story occurred in separate adventures, but were added together to create this one story. My brother is my hero and I love him dearly.

Reviews

[Bear]

Melanie~~ this is very good!! ;~) I read some of the story to my Grandmaw over the phone since I figure she and her younger brother shared many an "adventure" when they were tykes living in the "hills of appalachia" in Eastern Kentucky, USA. She'll be 90 in October and remembers days of long ago better than she remembers things that have happened in recent years. She was the eldest of three and repeatedly tells me stories about her and brother Fletcher avoiding the wrath of their Mother Molly. ;~) You do pen a good tale!! Thanks for sharing!! Sallie Bear

[Albert Freeman]

Excellent story, Stormz:) Sadly my memory of my youth isn't as vivid. Alan was quit the dare devil and had a lot of patience to put up with you;) Very entertaining read. I told you that you had the gift to be a good story teller.

[Samuel Dickens]

I love this tale! Chumming the water with chewed-up potato--now that's a new one! Your wonderful memories of youth are a delight, Melanie. With your story-writing credentials now soundly confirmed, I hope to see more of these. Thank you for taking me fishing! (Sorry about the pinky)