The Wanton Hussy and the Sea: Part II

After much request, here is Part II, of what I have already decided to be a IV part mini-series.

0500 Hours. Saturday, September 23rd. I am awaken to the sounds of people rustling about the cabin, climb off my top bunk and head to the one of two bathrooms on board to change. I have the taste in my mouth and grogginess in my head that only surfaces from lack of sleep. Like I have just fallen asleep only to be awaken, but am still in much need of the sleep ahead of me. I push on, intent on making the most of my short weekend. I get ready for a long, arduous day of fishing and settle back down into the "salon" with the other early risers. Breakfast has begun preparation and I could not be more excited; eggs, hashbrowns, sausage, bacon, french toast, the works. I am told that we are up too early, to head back down to the bunks and that we will be alerted to when breakfast is finally prepared. I do not argue as I am well aware I will have no problem catching a few more Zzz's before breakfast is completely ready.

1000 Hours. I wake up to my boss asking me if I feel okay. "I feel fine. Is breakfast ready?" "Breakfast was over a long time ago." Wait, what? I am still disoriented from just waking up after another five hours of intensive sleeping. Another co-worker, "Hey there teenager." "Huh?" Still very confused. At this point I am unaware as to what time it is. "You gonna sleep all day?" I get my bearings and head up to the deck. "You sick?" "You feelin' okay?" "Hey you missed breakfast." "Hey it's gonna be lunch time soon." I attempt to defend my namesake with, "I was up at 5, ask that guy. And breakfast wasn't ready so I was told to go back to sleep.. and... and..." I stammer. "Nevermind." I enter the tiny 4 by 4 kitchen and do my best to makeshift a breakfast. Two pieces of sausage and a piece of bacon are all that remains from what appeared to be a delicious meal. I ignore the continual harassment and questions about my sleep patterns and stomach movements. I am cranky when two things are out of my control. Food and sleep. When those two needs are met, I must say I am quite a gem. Sleep obviously was not a lack, but as I had not only not eaten at this point, but missed something that looked to be very satisfying, I was not the sweetest Hussy to be around at that very moment. Fortunately, I know when I am cranky and did my best to focus on finding food, eating quick and moving on, past the already rocky morning.

I managed to also locate the bread, jam and butter. I burn the bread. I don't care. I butter my bread, and eat the carbonized piece of crunch. Don't talk Hussy. Just keep eating and it will all be okay. I continue to eat my emotions.

1100 Hours. I finally step out onto the deck only to feel like a complete outsider. The combination of waking up late, missing breakfast and not having a clue as to what to do first, I could not have felt more stupid for agreeing to go. Knowing that I definitely did not want to appear helpless, I grab the closest rod and head to the tank of live bait. My self-proclaimed "Tom Boy" emerges. Growing up, I caught minnows, tad poles, salamanders, frogs, lizards, crawdads, basically anything that I could get my hands on. Tart can vouch for that. Sidenote: I didn't play with dolls or play house or tea party. I played in the dirt with the bugs and if I was caught in a role-playing scenario I mimicked the situations I was most familiar with; the bank and the travel agency. I could write you a airline ticket, invoice you and include a bank transaction by the age of seven.

I grew up in the suburbs that had a forest and a creek bed, all the things a kid could ask for. Slimy, crawly, live things don't bother me. I am shown how to bait the hook with the four inch sardines and catch on quickly. Really not much too it as long as you have a tight grip on the fighting fish. I've fished before, just not out on the ocean and am aware as to how to cast. Apparently though, I have never been faced with rods that we were using. They are "free spool" which means that if you don't know what you are doing and let your finger off the spool for only a second, you are left with a "back lash" or "robin's nest" of string. Everytime I cast I was left with this annoyance. But made it my obligation to not hound my fellow fishermen with my moments of weakness, possible hindering their chance at catching a big one.

1700 Hours. We fish all day. I managed to catch THREE yellowfin tuna fish. I am beaming with delight over my kill. My fish were all caught by "trolling" which is when you leave a rod with a lure dangling off the back of the boat while you cruise along. Once the "troll" lines are hit with a school of whatever, everyone grabs and rod and cast off to catch anymore of the hungry school. I was determined to catch a fish the "real" way. With me baiting the hook, casting the bait and reeling in my fish. We came upon a school of Dorado. I attempt to bait my own hook, only to have one of the deck hands step in, grab my hook and priviledge me his help. I oblige because that is what polite girls do. We don't say no when people help because then they are less inclined to help, especially in cases when we really do need help? And it could never hurt or hinder us in anyway if they helped, right? Right? *Obvious attempt at foreshadowing.*

I hooked a Dorado and am reeling it towards the boat. Not too quickly as to not snap the line as I had witnessed so many others do before me. Closer and closer. Under peoples lines. Over peoples lines. Congratulations are already being relinquished for me catching a Dorado, not on troll. I smile with accomplishment. I am putting my line over a coworkers as they are crossed or close to crossing. Our lines grow taught and mine breaks. I am now resorting back to when I would lose games or a swim race. Fist clenched, hands in the air, my jaw tight, obscenities escaping my pursed lips. "Don't worry." "Just hook up again." I am now challenged by the ocean and it's contents. I now must catch a Dorado. It has looked me in the eye and given me the middle fin.

1900 Hours. I am eager to take a shower and wash the fish blood off my legs, the salt off my face and the fish scales out of my hair. And quite possibly to impress a particular ship mate of mine with my attempt at feminity after a triumphant day of masculinity. The world may never know. A little mascara, blush, lip gloss, perfume and deordorant are all I need in order to maximize my confidence. I feel successful with my outcome given the circumstances and head up top to rally as many people as I can for a friendly game of poker. The trend with myself and poker maintains that I am either the first person out or I completely take the pot. Never inbetween. Four us settle into the salon, divide chips and toss in our $20 buy in. "First takes the pot. Second takes $20." Now those are rules I can live by. We start off and I am doing okay. My chip count starts dwindling and after the realization that this is one game where my appearance has no bearing on the outcome, I begin to take my $20 offer a bit more seriously. I have a full-house showing and go all in on a big pot. I win and have proven myself to not be one of those girls that really doesn't know how to play and attempt to use a series of fortunous bluffs as their strategy.

2100 Hours. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Old Man Hussy with a reel in his hand. He is struggling with something overboard. I knew that they were using the carcasses from the Dorado to do some shark hunting. A feeling of anxiety overcomes me when I fear the worst that could happen. I think I've seen "Jaws" one too many times. We momentarily pause our intense game of "Hold 'em" and head out back. My dad reels fast and for a second doesn't even resemble the quiet, reserved man that I have grown to love. For those few minutes my father is the man I've only seen in pictures and on old movies. The 32 year old that built a boat with his brother and sailed to Costa Rica and Tahiti before returning home to his new bride, my mother. The young man that picked up a hitch hiker in his Voltswagen Beetle, got in a car accident, consequently killing the hitch hiker and leaving my dad with a scar in the shape of a upside down "L" across his entire chest. I see more similarities between me and this image of my father than the easy going, complacent man I know today. Not only do I resemble an 18 year old version of my father, but I also see the unbridled, adventure seeking, unsatisfied spirit we both share.

The six foot Mako my dad struggles with breaks the line and slinks back into the deep plum stained waters. Coincidentally, a co-worker snagged a shark as well. This shark was never seen, but its eerie presence was felt among all members of the boat. The captain of the boat himself came down off his perch and dealt with the giant beast for over an hour, until it too broke the line with it's serrated tail. The captain began the fight alerting us that the shark was pushing 100 lbs. Fifteen minutes pass and the shark is now 200 -250 lbs. By the end of the fight, the shark is an alleged record breaking 400 lbs. We never catch a glimpse of the shark, but everyone shared in the exhaustion of the captain post struggle.

2200 Hours. We resume our poker game and I take the $80 pot minus $20 for second place. Second place co-worker offers me $20 in a quick game of high low. I am hesitant, but eventually fold as I could really use an extra $20 and rationalize that I will still be up even if I lose $20 in the event. I win. Thank you very much. I am now profiting $60 in my weekend venture.

2300 Hours. We play one more pot of poker and I lose my $20. I turn in for bed only after warning three people to wake me up when they do. I am not going to miss breakfast. I am going to catch a fish all on my own. I am going to keep giving myself positive affirmations. I fall asleep quick and hard. My mind racing with potential for the next day and recapping the previous. I have decided that when I retire I am buying a boat and sailing around the world, fishing and reading and eating and... sigh. That is what I am in this rat race called "existence" for. For my boat and my future ship mate and my fishing reel and all the books and bathing suits I can buy.