Oh Brother

by Tatiana Pahlen

First was published in the Montauk Pioneer November Issue 1998.

        What do I know about fishing? Frankly, not much! My first experience goes back to the summer of 1994 in Florida, where I found myself on a small fishing boat, catching dolphin. There are several species of dolphins, and the one I am writing about is a type of mahi-mahi or Dorado family. This particular type is known to have a funny looking face. The charter boat we were on was Ronnie's Run — a promising kind of name. Ironically, Ronnie stopped running in the middle of the ocean. Its crazed engine had simply dropped dead.
      Just about then the sky turned black as oil, and the thunderstorm with heavy rain drenched Ronnie and me, of course. There was nowhere to hide under cover — not even a towel! The only place covered was the fish trunk. But two dolphin already occupied it. Would they share their shelter with me? Would I with them? For two long hours, exposed to lightening and thunder sounding like bazooka firings, we waited to be saved and towed back to shore. The whole ordeal took about four hours plus. That day I swore on the darkened sky never go on a fishing boat again. I also damned myself for not having brought my trusty 'first-aid kit' — my packet flask of whisky — the only real credible thing to keep one's teeth from chattering.
       Well, never say never! At seven o'clock in the morning on November 6, 1998, I was brave enough to hop on a fishing boat again. This took place in Montauk's legendary waters. I visited Montauk for the first time in 1993 when I indulged in the wonderful treatments at Gurney's Spa. I still remember my satisfaction from outstanding service. I can assure you one can shed some years with every visit to Gurney's. This year, however, I was headed to a different direction. Yes, so many times I was told about fishing and the fishermen in Montauk. So, I decided to give it another try.
        On the bright, crisp morning, I climbed aboard the skiff, Oh Brother — a modest name. This was not something I had to do. The fishing expedition came as a surprise from some friends who are true fishing addicts and regulars to Montauk. The owners of 'Oh-Brother' and co-captains were actual brothers Rob and Dale. Bob took the helm. But there was also a mate, called Tom. He was all around help, charming and adept. After we shook hands and exchanged names, I asked if he would take photo of me with the crew. He gladly agreed. He told me that he was hired seasonally and worked as a carpenter in the wintertime. I didn't pursue any other questions about his life. As we started to move, Tom offered me a lollipop. I struggled with the wrapper, which was stuck like Crazy Glue, and put it to my mouth with little bits of paper still sticking. Usually I never I eat lollipops, especially from a hand of a stranger, but I thought it was for good luck and part of the fishing experience.
      "I just quit smoking," said Tom, "It helps." He pointed at the lollipop.
      "Do fish like it too?" I asked sincerely.
      "They surely do! He shouted back over the nose of the engine. "As soon as the fish bites, count to five before you pull it out. Like one, two, three . . . " He was still counting when I yelled out.
      "It bit! I can't believe it bit!" Everyone was quite surprised. My friends had not yet caught anything. I proudly pulled out my first trophy — a bluefish. Tom changed the bait, and as soon as I got my fishing pole back in the water it started to dance in my hands again. This time I caught two striped bass.
      "You lucky girl," I've heard from behind. I smiled and silently savored my lollipop and the leftover pieces of wrapping.
      When the wind started to blow harder, I gave my seat to one of my friends and went inside the cabin. But I didn't get much rest. As soon as I sat down, I was called back. My friend captured a huge striped bass, and Tom was helping to pull it out. Suddenly I screamed for help as well. I had another catch — two yet bigger striped bass. Attention now. The next part is only for folks with strong stomachs. You see, I saw one of the fish jump and fall on its belly, and something flew out of its mouth landing next to my feet. It was half-eaten bait. I asked Tom if he would let the poor fish finish its meal.
      "Last supper?" he chuckled. Then he grabbed the thing and got rid of it. I kept him running back and forth from pole to pole changing bait and pulling out. I dragged six more bluefish and striped bass. Some were let go because they were too small. I learned it is prohibited to keep any fish smaller than a certain size.
      By now my hands were awfully sore. I had not rested for a second throughout this whole exiting time. I simply demanded that someone else take over my seat. Literally out of the blue, I yelled for help, "Aiiihh!" There was no way I could handle what happened — four fish on one pole. I wrapped my legs around it. My knees became black and blue, like some of the colors of the ocean, and I asked myself how would I explain these bruises later? This was my last catch of the day. I solemnly gave up my pole. Tom shook my hand and said, "Great job. Are you always this lucky? You will come back soon, I hope?"
      "You bet," I answered pondering if the lollipop had brought me luck. Frozen to the bone and happy to be back, I stepped up to the dock. Our haul went straight to the grill. What is tastier than your own catch frying on the grill? And before I start to drool all over the page and get it all messy, let me finish this story with an ardent vow.
      "Yes, of course, I shall return."

November 10, 1998