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Squid and Fog

Squid and Fog

Posted by on May 23, 2013 in Blog, Commercial Fishing, Nature, Sport Fishing, Stories | 0 comments

Photos by Zach Harvey. Story by JP Lee Point Judith, R.I. — Sometimes on windless nights in May, when everything in the harbor is still, when there’s no boat traffic, no ferries backing in or out, no welders or grinders, no fishermen pulling heavy sweeps and chains across bulkheads, the squid—the loligo—will come into the shallows and lay in the...

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The Ocean is

Posted by on Mar 6, 2012 in Stories | 8 comments

The ocean– You bring it home in your pockets and shoes and empty the sand onto the kitchen floor. Tiny grains ground down from continents. On the windowsill is a jar full of sea glass and inside the jar you have your favorites—and not all are smooth and perfect and blue. It can’t all be about ocean policy and rules and all the things we do...

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A Lobsterboat with some rope in the wheel.

Posted by on Feb 7, 2012 in Commercial Fishing, Stories | 11 comments

The fear came on as I stood there, a knife in my hand, a tank on my back. The boat drifted with the engine off. We had rope in the wheel. Someone needed to get in the water, cut it out. Breathe like you normally would. In fear situations you never want your imagination in charge of your intellect. You’ll freeze. I froze. Standing on deck in my boxer...

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The importance of the forgettable.

Posted by on Dec 2, 2011 in Seafood, Stories | 7 comments

The completely ordinary. The commonplace. The pond and stream that are in every town, spread across everyplace. There are good reasons to think about the pond that one day may become a parking lot. I fully love the shithole of a sluggish stream, where the water strider zipping across the surface is the insect of our childhoods, and we never bothered...

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A very short boyhood fishing sketch.

Posted by on Mar 24, 2011 in Stories | 0 comments

And don’t I wish to be me again, that hopeful little boy with his hook and tin of worms, climbing down the bank to the river, sliding in the mud, rushing toward the water. At the stream my palms are too sweaty to hold the hook and thread the worm. I see the rocks in front of me and hear the water eddy in a gurgled rush. My first cast is never the right...

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spring for weasels

Posted by on Mar 21, 2011 in Nature, Stories | 0 comments

It doesn’t have to be a mountain lion or a tiger shark—the shadow of a large predator moving along an edge.  It doesn’t have to be a huge and beautiful manta ray jumping black against the sun. A person can be shocked by a meadow vole. On your knees in the backyard looking for your son’s matchbox car. You reach for an old flowerpot, sunk deep in the...

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