A short, short story about Mackerel fishing on the Atlantic Ocean, off-shore from Halifax, Nova Scotia.
Please, One Huge Fish
Water Street ends at a parking lot beside the Halifax waterfront. “I’m going to catch a monster fish,” I say to anyone who will listen.
One forty-foot boat is a Cape Islander built in the Village of Chelsea. “THE PUFFIN” in large letters announces it’s my fishing boat. I rush up onto the deck, my fishing arm prepared.
Chug-Chugging brings us into the Atlantic Ocean. “I’m going deep sea fishing!” I yell into the wind.
From here, the CIBC and MTT buildings look like mountains. And the MacDonald Bridge is a rainbow of steel behind us. Huge cranes hover like vultures over train boxcars parked on the docks.
We hurry past George’s Island with its old fort and two small buildings. The Puffin’s 195 HP motor is carrying people from all over Nova Scotia. They’re like fixings in a huge pot of soup.
Suddenly, there is silence. Ocean waves splash against the hull. The Captain announces, “Time to fish! Everyone scrambles for a good spot on deck. “We’re now seven miles from shore,” he adds.
“This spot is about 25 feet deep,” he said. “Drop your sinker to the bottom, and raise the line up two feet. Swing your rod up quickly, then down slowly. If you feel anything, jerk on the line and…”
Everyone caught mackerel, and I did not catch the biggest fish. In fact, I was too fussy and kept throwing all my mackerel back. But, there is always next time.
Let this coming of age story of a boy named Bean take you back to a simple time. Set in a small southern town in the 1960's, encircled by a river and gleaming white cotton fields.
