His gruff persona was as iconic as the lighthouse standing vigil on the knoll above the marina. If you were in the harbor when he returned from a voyage, you would spy him at the helm of his boat, greasy ball cap shoved down over his bald pate, his eyes barely visible. His characteristic oil cloth Grundens, slick with ocean spray, snapped to his chin.
The aroma of crab pots, emptied of their bugs and stacked on the starboard side of the deck, entice a squabble of gulls, cawing their discontent over having no morsels to steal. Life-preservers, once bright safety orange, now faded to a dull vermillion, serve as dock bumpers.
The enigmatic captain was the epitome of Ahab, and his trawler, his personal Pequod. His Moby wasn’t a Great White, instead the monster he chased after was unknown to even him. All he knew was he longed for the sea, that he only felt at home in deep water.
He stayed in port only long enough to sell his catch, and take on supplies. His family stopped coming into greet him long ago, so long that no one remembered he was married. His wife would tell strangers she was a widow and her children fatherless, true enough it was.
When he died, few mourned his passing. The absence of the caricature of who he was, noticed far more than the real person he was. His legacy, a plaque at the local fishing museum and a meager display of his handcrafted lures, was all that remained of his life.
*Living on the Gulf Coast of Florida, near the “The World’s Luckiest Fishing Village,” crab traps are as ubiquitous, and iconic, as seagulls on the beaches.
Thin spiral notebook 
Great imagery, and a somewhat – though not entirely – sad portrait of a man, his mistress and the family he left behind. Very cool.
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I agree with Carrie that the imagery is amazing!
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This really draws me in and I want to know more about this character, his life and his family. I have known a couple of old sailors a bit like yours and have always been fascinated by what draws them to the sea in such a way that when not on it they seem to be incomplete. Thanks for sharing this with us.
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I find myself gulping. What a grand piece of work. The imagery, the sensual detail, the depth of emotion are remarkable. You do have a gift. Thanks for sharing it.
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We used to (use to?) spend our summers in New Brunswick and local fishermen would take us along to drop lobster traps. Your story could be of that area just as much… This was a nice hommage to a man who loved the sea more than anything, something I can totally relate to!
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This is one remarkable bit of prose – I could SEE him, smell him, fear him, a bit.
Well done, Tara. Really, really well done.
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I get giddy whenever you stop by and like something I’ve written. It’s like getting a good grade from a favorite teacher. Thanks, Lou!
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The imagery you craft is fabulous! I could see this as the opening to a novel or short story, where the death of this captain sparked the beginning of some sort of supernatural occurrence, a creature rising from the sea to wreck havoc on the little village that forgot about him…never understood the REAL reason he ventured out.
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Oh… I like that! I may have to steal you idea for later. Thanks!
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give me credit in the acknowledgements 😉
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Absolutely!
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Love the story and love love love the photo! K
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