These photos were taken two springs ago. So I’m older, wiser; and already I miss the spring. The youth, the snap, the run of ambition. Our first winter gales blink at us from the horizon. We feel them coming before they even get here.
My good friend Zach Harvey took these shots while on a squid trip with me and Brian Loftes. We were fishing in Block Island Sound. Brian runs the boat the Damariscotta, a Rhode Island dragger.
The tows we made were pure. Pure because there was nothing in the net but squid. To a fisherman this is as close to love as you’re ever going to get while standing in hip boots. The work is clean–no trash fish, no discards- and the money is good.
I’d run the squid straight down a chute into the hold. I’m guessing we ended the day with 4,000 pounds of squid. Squid sells for around a dollar a pound. It makes for a good day. A day you’d kill for when things slow down, get lean.
If you look hard enough at the photographs you’ll be able to smell the squid’s ink dripping down the deck plates and down into the fish hold. Squid spoil quick. As any captain would say, “Make sure you ice the shit out of ’em.”