Coastal Focus: ROCKPORT :: by Capt. MAC GABLE
Persnickity
T
HE MORNING BROKE COLD with a fine drizzle that seemed to chill to the bone. It didn’t matter what you had on, the moisture just got under
your skin. I was wrapped around my thermos of coffee like a well-worn blanket. Definitely need more clothes I thought. No worries about my bait today, I said to myself, having fought the heat the previous summer, which often kills good bait. I was alone at the dock on St. Charles Bay, and I convinced myself it was likely to remain that way. No one except me, was dumb enough to go out in this cold, wet, winter weather. My clients this day were hard core anglers, and I knew they would show up. Luckily, I had confidence we would find the bite. I prayed the thick-as-soup drizzle would burn off and blue bird weather would prevail. The forecast, though, was not on my side. Wet and cold, it was gonna be for three days. I was relatively new to guiding having been in it for only three years. I needed the money. At that young age, I thought I was indestructible, so weather was never going to be an issue. Now in my sixties, I recognize I was perfectly and absurdly in error. About the time I had persuaded myself to soak up the dry heat in my truck, a small foreign vehicle carefully backed into the center of the boat ramp. The driver seemed very particular on which side of the ramp where they were choosing to back their boat and trailer. When I tell you this guy pulled up and back at least five times, I am not exaggerating. Is there a problem with his brakes? Brake lights? Is he practicing backing? Has he been toking on a number or pulling on the bottle to cut the wet cold? I was getting tired just watching him. After what seemed like the everlasting end of time, it seems the boat, now begging to be put into the water, was ready for launch. I was now back at my boat. I knew that if he had this much trouble on a vacant double boat
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“and I will dock behind you?” “I can’t get out then. You will have me ‘dock locked,’” I said, now with a tone that was approaching bewilderment, anger, and panic. Whoever this bird was he wasn’t flying with both wings, or at the very least his feathers had been severely clipped. I was cold, wet, and had clients coming. My coffee tasted like it had sour cream in it. “Hold just a second sir,” I said. “I will move over to the far slip,” having decided I was not up for confrontation this a.m. “Thank you” he simply stated and proceeded to launch his boat. I saw nothing in his mannerisms that suggested he was ailing or limited other than the grey matter between his ears. Having tied up and meticulously parked his trailer, he made his way over and matter of factly thanked me for moving. “Hate to start my day on the wrong foot” he said. “I take it you’re a guide?” “Yes,” I mumbled, thinking why else would I be out here?. “Have always wanted to see a guide’s boat and how it is set up.” This guy wasn’t going away, so I tickled my curious side awake and thought, let’s see what makes this conun-
ramp he was more than likely gonna slam into my boat approaching the dock. Instead, he jumped out of his truck, boat, motor, and trailer still on the ramp, and came quickly over to where my boat was tied up. “Would it be too much of an inconvenience to move your boat?”, he asked??? “Say it again?” I stated. “Can you move your boat? You are in my preferred spot.” “Sir, there are six other places you can tie up,” I informed him. “As you can see we are quite assuredly alone and likely to stay that way this morning.” The look he gave me was not one of anger, but rather angst/confusion. I’m not a boat ramp hog, nor do I believe my frequent use of such assures inalienable rights to same, but I was, by thunder, here first. My mind raced to understand before the now-stirring of my pee and vinegar took hold. Seek first to understand then to be understood I told myself (a life lesson we men especially need to embrace). “Can you move forward a bit then,” he asked,
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12/11/18 5:33 PM
