Hudson and Fishing

"I could tell it was a king crab because of the kind of bumps it had on it. And they go crazy for some chicken."

-Hudson

Hudson considers himself to be a man of the sea, like Quint from Jaws, but without all the facial hair. But Hudson is actually just very proficient in the small fish population that inhabit Nantucket, a small island off the coast of Massachusetts, where Hudson and I spend our summers at our grandmother’s cottage.

The problem with fishing in Nantucket is that as a kid, my dad reeled in striped bass and bluefish on the regular, and this was during the off season. Nantucket fishing, usually peaks in mid to late September, but bass and bluefish are most often caught in November. I remember as a kid being so impressed and in love with my dad when he caught fish half the size as me.

Now we catch spider crab, scup the size of my hands cupped together, and sea robin that look like some mutation between a trout and a bird. The only things we take home are scup where we scrap small filets off their delicate bodies and fry them in a pan drizzled with lemon juice.

My dad met his two best friends fishing on Nantucket, sharing bait or beer, and the three of them still bring their families to the island every summer. But we don't fish together anymore, and if we do, half the kids don't want any part of it. Hudson usually complains about night fishing because there is nothing to see and we can only listen for the splash of fin surfacing. The thrash of a body. We dare each other to wade in the cold water blind. I’ve lost interest as well because we don't hear the fish anymore. But as soon as we touch the sand and we hear my dad send his first cast into the water, Hud’s in. He wants the rod for himself. He wants to catch striper so freaking bad because it’s such a rarity.

I don't know if Hud understands that there aren't anymore bluefish that make our father cry happy tears. These hard, crustacean animals and smelly sea robins are surviving because no one wants them. The internet will tell you they make a nice fillet, but they don't. The smell of sea bottom never leaves. Fresh striped bass goes for fifteen dollars a pound on the island.

Hudson says that the fish are just hiding, or blames it on the fact that the landscape of the island is constantly changing. Hud get the small scale things. He understands that we cut down too many trees, trash on the side of the road is dangerous to deer, and trash in the ocean is dangerous for penguins. He’s seen Happy Feet. But what he hasn't added up (yet) is all the pieces. The cause and the effect haven't formed an equation for him yet. And so he sends another cast into the water, I hear it fly through the water, and I know he won’t catch anything before the weight even hits the water.