Authors Note:
If you haven’t read Fisher Berry part 1, you’ll want to do that first. Here’s the link:
If you have read it, here’s a quick summary:
Derrik Berry is one final exam away from completing college. Once he graduates, he has a good job lined up as an accountant working for his old man.
Derrik receives a text from Sam Stout, his erstwhile college roommate, who quit school to pursue the life of a lobster fisherman. Sam needs a weekend greenhorn and invites Derrik to Maine to do some fishing off the Coast.
Derrik agrees. They share some drinks, and Sam introduces Derrik to his boat named, Reggio Emilia.
As always, you can also listen* to me read this short story to you below.
*A note about the audio: I am not a professional voice artist (yet). As such, I am experimenting with the vocal aspect and want to make it an enjoyable experience for those who listen. Last week, I made some improvements to the vocal quality and went for a more immersive experience, complete with some background sound effects. This week, I went for a more traditional vocal throughout. What’s great about Substack is you can let me know what you like best! Feel free to leave a comment, or send me an e-mail via Substack with feedback. I am nothing without critiques, so don’t be shy or worry you are going to make me feel bad- lay it on me! Trust me, I have thick skin.
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Listen to Fisher Berry here:
Read Part 2 of Fisher Berry here:
The boat bounced stoically in the ocean and Derrik’s heart accelerated. “It’s beautiful. Can I board it?”
Sam pulled a flask of whiskey from his pocket, took a swig and handed it to Derrik. “The entrance fee is a swig of whiskey.”
The whiskey burned Derrik’s throat and coated his stomach with warmth. He stepped onto the boat and gripped the rail for stability.
Sam grabbed his arm. “Steady now. Just give it a moment and everything will come into balance.”
Derrik looked across the vast ocean and released his grip. His knuckles were white. “I’m okay. Show me around already.”
Sam adjusted his cap. “It’s got all we need. Plenty of storage for the live bugs. That’s what we call lobsters out here, and our food—as long as you don’t mind canned stuff. I use herring as bait. Do you remember how to bait a trap?”
Derrik shook his head. “I saw ‘em do it before, but I’ve never actually did it myself.”
Sam dug around a lobster pot until he found a bait bag. “It’s real easy, you see. You’ll just have to cut up some herring, stuff it into this sack and tie it to the top of the trap.”
Derrik took the brown stuff sack and examined it. He held it to his nose; it smelled horrible. “What is that smell?”
Sam wafted his fingers in front of his nose. “That scent attracts bugs. The lobster will crawl into the trap, but can’t crawl out. That’s all there is to it. You can do it.”
Derrik nodded slowly. “So, you’re officially hirin’ me?”
Sam smiled. “The job’s yours for as long as you want it, my friend. I bet you’ll never go back to school after this weekend.”
“I don’t know about all that.”
Sam looked at the ocean. Waves crashed in the distance. “I won’t have to convince you. The sea has a way of doin’ that. Which reminds me; you’ll need a waterproof jacket and shoes.” He pulled a knife from his toolbelt. “Most importantly you’ll need a good knife. It may be the only thing that saves your goddamn life out there.” Sam displayed his knife as if it were his most prized possession. “A couple of days ago I laid pots. Tomorrow, we need to check them.”
Derrik eyed Sam and smiled. “It’ll be an honor to join you, sir.”
Ω
By morning a biting white fog encased the Reggio Emilia. Derrik arrived at the dock, rubbed his hands together and blew into his palms. His breath lingered in the air before merging with the fog.
Onboard, Sam checked the engine. He scratched his head and tightened something with a wrench. He glanced up and waived. “Enjoying the lobster weather?” Sam motioned for Derrik. “Hey, I need to show ya a few things. I’ve had some problems with this water intake. It gets clogged real easy and then overheats. If that happens, we may need to remove the debris and let her cool off. The other culprit could be this oil gasket. So far it hasn’t been a problem, but I have a spare in my repair kit.” Sam demonstrated how to replace it.
“They certainly don’t teach anything like this at Dartmouth.”
Sam chuckled. “Definitely not. When I was a greenhorn, fixing the engine was part of my job. You’ll need to know this. Do you think you can handle it?”
Derrik furrowed his brow. “I don’t know. Show me again. I’m a quick learn.”
Derrik spent the next hour with his old friend learning how to fix the Reggio Emilia. When that was done, they returned to the cabin. Sam fired up a propane heater and laid nautical maps of the Gulf of Maine upon a folding table. He poured steaming coffee from a Thermos and shared some with Derrik.
Sam traced his finger along the map. “We’ll need to head due south towards Jeffrey’s Ledge. I set my traps there. I have a hunch those bugs are hovering close to the shoreline.”
Derrik looked at the map. “Why there? I heard lobsters like deep, rocky waters. Jeffrey’s Ledge looks too shallow.”
Sam folded his arms across his chest. “Well, well, well. “Look who’s the damn lobster expert.”
Derrik cast his eyes to the floor. Maybe that was too much.
When he looked up Sam was smiling. “Actually, you have a point. But I’m workin’ off a hunch. Captain’s instinct. I trust it more than the textbooks, that’s for certain. Let’s set this GPS to Jeffery’s Ledge. Have you ever programed a GPS?”
“I haven’t.”
Sam showed Derrik how to program coordinates. “This little system cost more than my boat.”
Derrik set the GPS. “Okay. All set. Are we ready to shove off? What can I do?”
“What every greenhorn does. Start baitin’ traps. I’ve got a tub of herring on the aft deck. Ya need to cut ‘em up good, because in about two hours we’re gonna pull our first trap. If it’s full—no, because it’ll be full, we bait it again, understand?”
“Yes, Captain,” Derrik said.
“I like that Captain stuff.” Sam laughed and slapped Derrik gently on the back. “Do you have any idea how long I had to bait traps, as a greenhorn? I still can’t get that smell off my hands.”
Derrik unsheathed the knife he had purchased from Brett’s Pawn Shop yesterday and picked up a herring. The smelly fish flopped lifelessly in his hands and slipped to the deck. Derrik grabbed the slimy fish again, held it tight and cut off the head. He chunked the rest of the fish into pieces and stuffed it all into a bait bag.
The Reggio Emilia’s motor fired up and Sam’s voice echoed from an antiquated intercom system. “Untie us, Derrik. It’s full speed ahead!”
Derrik unmoored the vessel and gripped the guard rail as the boat pushed its way forward through the choppy ocean.
Ω
Derrik leaned over the deck and threw up. By the fifth time it was nothing but bile. The seas were rough, and the swells treated the boat as if it were a toy in a bathtub. Sam sat in the warmth of his cabin, making retching sounds over the intercom each time Derrik hurled.
“Get it out of your system, kid,” he laughed. “We’ve got traps to pull.”
The boat roared toward the first trap and Derrik reached for the gaff. Sam maneuvered the Reggio Emilia within feet of the buoy. Derrik steadied his patient eye on the ring atop the bouncing buoy and snagged it on his first try.
“Atta boy!” Sam called out. “I knew ya’d be good at this the second ya hit double bull’s-eye.”
Derrik pulled the buoy out of the water and latched onto the rope. He ran it to the pulley and secured the rope over the walker. The hydraulics kicked in and pulled the rope out of the water.
Sam’s arms moved like a choreographed dance, coiling the rope onto the deck. “Always mind the ropes. Gettin’ tangled in one of these is a sure-fire way to die out here.”
A minute later, the trap emerged from the depths and Derrik killed the hydraulic power. He reached over and pulled the 125-pound pot up and rested it on the deck. “What kind of traps are these? They’re huge.”
Sam ran over to the trap. “Not my fault, the traps were included with the purchase. They don’t make ‘em like this anymore, so I kept ‘em.” He cleared the curtain of seaweed off the heavy box. It was empty. Sam stomped his foot on the floor. “Damnit!”
Derrik pulled all of Sam’s pots, but there was only one usable lobster.
Sam stared at the last pot “No sense baitin’ the traps here again, I guess you were right about Jeffrey’s Ledge after all.”
“Told ya,” Derrik said, muffling the phrase in a fake cough. “Where do we go now?”
End of Part 2.