Chapter 3:
Catching Shrimp and Trout
Sewing up armadillo holes in the shrimp net was tedious work. And the summer heat, even under the shade of the oak tree, made them long for a cool swim. But the boys worked without complaining. For one thing, they were as guilty as Al Capone. Danny’s daddy knew it but didn’t accuse them directly. Repairing the net was getting off easy as far as they were concerned. The icing on the cake, of course, was the possibility of taking the boat out for an evening of shrimping.
That was Danny’s daddy’s way. Hard work equaled the right to play. It didn’t matter if you were a blood relative, a friend visiting for a few days or a couple of kids innocently walking down the beach. If some logs needed moving or a hole needed digging and you were nearby, get ready to start sweating. In fairness, when the boat set out for fishing in the morning or if water skiing was on the agenda, you were invited to participate in that too as long as you’d put in your time. In that way he was one of the first equal-opportunists.
When he worked them too hard, they had a lot of names for him – all whispered under their breath: Hitler, General Patton, even Lucifer when the Alabama heat seared them mercilessly.
Affectionately, he was Daddy, Uncle Walter, Mr. Thornton and a host of endearing terms from his wife, Miss Kitty. But at some point, everyone just took to calling him Mr. Walt, even his own kids.
While she occasionally joined fishing and shrimping expeditions, Miss Kitty was a purebred, refined Southern Belle. A child of the depression and World War II, she’d lived through hard times and seen enough heartbreak to last two lifetimes. But God had blessed her with a natural beauty of wavy brown hair, gentle features and a ballerina’s figure. As a young woman she was the queen of many a debutant ball and had been proposed to so many times by so many young men, she couldn’t remember them all. Mr. Walt won her over with his sense of honesty, hard work, dashing good looks (the army uniform helped) and devotion to his family. Their love was as strong as oak and all their friends admired their respect for each other.
Around Mr. Walt and Miss Kitty’s house, appropriately named Paradise Point for the large beach jutting out into the bay, two things were certain – one, Mr. Walt was gonna work everyone like slaves and two, he and Miss Kitty were deeply in love.
“Boys, how’s that net coming?” Mr. Walt asked.
“It’s pretty much done,” Danny said proudly. “We even cleaned out the sticks that got into it when we…um, I mean, when whatever happened to get those sticks in it happened.”
“Yeah, however that happened,” Will said as harmlessly as he could.
He and Trout both shot a glare at Danny. What was he thinking? He almost blurted it out and got them in deep trouble. Mr. Walt smiled and let it slide. If they didn’t know it then, one day they’d realize that he knew their every move, no matter how slick they thought they were.
“Then by golly, let’s go shrimping. Who’s in?”
The boys sprang up, dancing around the net like monkeys. Fun was in the near future. Of course, shrimping was no ride at the carnival. Pulling in the net was Trojan’s work. But the rewards far outweighed their blistered hands and sore backs. They’d get big ol’, fat blue crabs and more shrimp that they could eat, sometimes 40 or 50 pounds. And sifting through all the weird critters they dragged up was delving into a world of aliens. They had figured out how to make squid shoot ink at each other and the best way to inflate tiny pufferfish (by blowing into their mouths). That trick always made them giggle uncontrollably. And just the site of a flounder with those bizarre eyes was worth the trip.
Maybe the best of all was knowing what happened to all the leftovers. Inevitably they were the makings of a massive pot of steaming gumbo they’d eat on for days. So they donned their work gloves and dragged in the net time and again. As always, there were a multitude of brothers, sisters and cousins to feed and Mr. Walt’s job, beyond slave driver, father and friend, was provider.
Contrary to what white-collar snobs might expect, dragging a shrimp net behind a boat involves plenty of artistry. Like when the Styrofoam float tied to the back end of the net starts to submerge, the boat is going the proper speed. An experienced driver also keeps an eye on the draglines to make sure the wooden doors are gliding through the water at the correct angle, keeping the mouth of the net open wide. Even if the speed is right, the net is spread and the tickler chain is gently bouncing along the bottom with absolute perfection, there’s still one vital detail. You have to find the shrimp. And they don’t advertise.
“Okay boys, pull ‘er in,” Mr. Walt said as he eased back on the throttle. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
The sun was low on the horizon. Nightfall was coming fast, a welcomed event for shrimping. The wind generally slacked off after sundown and the temperature became more bearable. And they never knew what mysteries might be revealed under a dark, starry night.
“You take the right side,” Will said to Danny, “my arm hurts.”
“Okay,” Danny said, always agreeable, especially with his older cousin.
Some said they were like brothers. But the truth was they were closer than that. Brothers, at least in the Thornton family, fought like wild dogs and tormented one another with fists, ropes, sharp-toed boots and death stares. Danny and Will had their differences and they could compete like warriors but deep down they loved each other as much as a mother loves her child.
Even though there was only six months between them, Will was almost a head taller and far more developed athletically. And, while his arm really didn’t hurt, Will knew that Mr. Walt always pulled the net over the right side of the boat, leaving that poor sap with the full weight of the net. Passing that buck to Danny was Will’s special blend of laziness and cleverness that frequently led him into trouble but somehow allowed him to escape unscathed. The fact was, Danny didn’t mind pulling the load, as long as it won him in favor with Will.
“Pull harder, you’re getting behind,” Will scolded Danny. “We need to bring the doors in at the same time.”
“I can’t,” Danny whined. “I’m pulling as hard as I can.”
“Don’t be a cry baby. Just pull.”
Mr. Walt eased off the throttle as Danny pulled hand over hand with all his strength.
“I see the doors, I’m turning,” Mr. Walt said as he began to bark commands. “Bring it around the motor. Watch that propeller! Don’t drop it. Be careful. Will, help Danny with those doors. Okay, pull it in. Pull it IN!”
Every muscle in Danny’s back strained as he struggled under the weight of the leaded doors and the tickler chain. Finally he dragged them over the railing leaving the prize – the ball of shrimp and fish at the end of the net – for Will. As he brought it along side the boat, Will slumped in disappointment.
“Not much, Mr. Walt,” he said.
“Dump it in the bucket anyway and let’s see.”
Will poured the meager catch into the 20-gallon steel bucket. A few muddy sticks, a dozen or so shrimp and a pile of jellyfish filled it up.
“Damn,” Mr. Walt said. “Let’s run down the bay a ways to that deep trough by Tarkiln Bayou. You boys get those shrimp. And pull a few of those pinfish and croakers out. We might use ‘em later.”
They wanted to dump it all overboard, lose the shrimp and save themselves from the jellyfish. But Mr. Walt had put out an order so they followed without question. As Trout reached for a shrimp it jumped away splattering tiny droplets of jellyfish venom into his face.
“Ouch,” he yelled and jumped back, “it went in my eye.”
“Be careful,” Will said. “Once you grab it, look away and pull it out quick.”
“If you’re so smart, you do it,” Trout said. “My eye burns.”
“I’ll try,” Danny volunteered as he pulled on his work gloves. “Will, can you shine the flashlight so I can see the shrimp’s red eyes? Maybe that’ll help me spot ‘em.”
“Got it,” Will said. Holding the light was his kind of job.
Mr. Walt already had the boat planed out and was focused on finding the elusive crustaceans while the boys tried to avoid too much jelly carnage. All of those fish and shrimp had just been rudely abducted from their homes so they splashed around wildly trying to figure out where all of the water had gone. Unfortunately for the boys, the bucket was brimming with fresh jellyfish soup sloshing around and splashing on them.
Trout helped Danny dig into the slimy goop. The total came to nine shrimp, hardly enough for a decent seafood platter. Their forearms were burning and they dared not rub their eyes or touch any part of their bodies. Even though they’d been wearing gloves, they’d learned to keep their hands off of flesh or pay the price.
“I hope we get some shrimp on the next pull,” Danny said. “I’ve had enough jellyfish stings for one night.”
“We will. I can feel it,” Will consoled him. “Mr. Walt always finds ‘em.”
“Yeah, he does,” Trout agreed with a smile.
The motor throttled back quickly.
“Put her in boys,” Mr. Walt said. “Let’s catch some shrimp.”
Like seasoned commercial shrimpers, they moved in silent synchronicity, tying off the net, tossing the buoy, dropping the doors and making sure the tickler chain was in place. For the next 30 minutes they waited and hoped.
“Dump the bucket overboard when I turn,” Mr. Walt said. “Don’t want to pick those jellyfish back up.”
“Dolphins!” Danny yelled.
“I see four, no five. Wait, there’s six, at least,” Trout said.
“Let’s feed ‘em,” Will shouted while he collected a few stray fish that had fallen out of the bucket.
“Use those pinfish and croakers,” Mr. Walt said. “That’s why we saved ‘em.”
As sure as humidity in August, you could always count on seagulls and dolphins to follow a shrimp boat. Free sushi was too much to pass up.
A dwindling pinkish light rimmed the horizon painting an eerie purple on the undulating bay. Stars were popping out in the eastern sky and a fingernail moon hung overhead. As night fell the wind died and the water around them turned slicker than an onionskin.
The dolphins cut a lazy path across the surface, nibbling on the fish the boys tossed out. They watched the show in speechless awe to a symphony of seagull squawks and the regular puff of air from the dolphins’ blowhole.
“Whoa, look at that,” Danny shrieked. “They’re glowing.”
“Where?” Will and Trout asked in unison as they sprang next to Danny.
“Look there,” he pointed, “under the boat. There goes one.”
“Unreal!” Trout said. “It’s like a shooting star.”
“Look, Mr. Walt,” Will said. “Phosphorus.”
“It’s so bright,” Danny said. “Why is out sometimes and not out sometimes?”
“Well boys, on a dark night like this,” he explained softly, “the phosphorus can get really thick. You know, they’re microorganisms and for some reason they just glow a lot brighter sometimes.”
Growing up on the bay, they’d seen phosphorus many times before but never as intense as that night.
“Is like a million lightning bugs,” Danny said.
“Yep, same idea,” Mr. Walt agreed. “Put your hand in the water and shake it around.”
In a flash, the boy’s hands were incandescent. They began making lines across the surface as if they were drawing in the air with sparklers.
“Try putting a fish in your hand and see what happens,” Mr. Walt said.
All three boys scrambled around in the stern to find another fish. They’d already tossed out the ones they saved from the first haul. Trout spotted a tiny flounder stuck to the inside of the hull. Holding it by the tail he swished it in the water. Within a few seconds a white bottle-shaped nose pierced the water an inch from his hand. Wet, dark eyes looked up directly at Trout. With that signature smile, the dolphin floated motionless waiting for Trout to drop the fish.
“He probably won’t take it from your hand Trout,” Mr. Walt said. “Just drop it.”
The flounder was snatched from mid air so fast it startled the boys. Then in a flash of phosphorescence, the dolphin disappeared.
“Wow,” they all shouted. “That was coooool!”
For the next fifteen minutes they found anything they could, even braved a couple of jellyfish tentacles, to attract the dolphins. Mr. Walt watched with admiration, knowing this was one of those experiences that would fertilize their Alabama roots – something he hoped they’d be able to share with their kids too.
“Okay, enough playtime boys. Let’s pull in the net.”
Trout stepped forward. He was due. Will grabbed the bucket and moved it out of the way, leaving Danny to pull with Trout.
“I’ll get the next one,” Will said, hoping this haul would be big enough to take them in for the night. “I’ll hold the flashlight.”
“Yeah, you’re an expert at that,” Trout said sarcastically. “I’m calling you the flashlight weenie.”
“Watch it butt face,” Will said. “Somebody has to do it.”
“You’re the butt face making us do all the work.”
“I pulled it in last time so kiss my…”
“Okay, that’s enough boys,” Mr. Walt said sternly. “Focus on getting the net in. You can fight like wild boars if you want to when we get home, as long as I’m not around. But I don’t want to hear your whining.”
“Yes sir!”
When Will’s flashlight beam hit the net, they saw sweet success. As big around as a 55-gallon drum, the ball of seafood they’d scraped off the bottom took all three of them to drag over the side. Hundreds of the tiny red eyes shined at them.
”Oh man, look at all those shrimp,” Will said as they filled the bucket. “We hit the mother load!”
“How much do you think we got Mr. Walt?” Danny asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Looks like at least twenty-five, maybe thirty pounds. That ought to do it.”
“Yeeeeee-ha!” Trout yelled. “We’re gonna eat like kings.”
Mr. Walt cut the engine and tossed out the anchor.
“Y’all put the net out and let the current clean out the trash,” he said.
A steady tide sucked the net behind the boat, washing away the pinfish, croakers and baby crabs that were hung up in the webbing.
“I have an idea,” Mr. Walt said. “How about a quick swim.”
They hesitated briefly, obviously scared of the darkness.
“Come on boys, the water’s warm and if you open your eyes the phosphorous will zoom by like you’re flying through the stars.”
“I’ll go if you go daddy,” Danny said shakily, this time skipping the Mr. Walt reference.
“All right. How about it Will? Trout? Y’all in.”
As they dived in hundreds of tiny lights swept over their corneas.
Just like Mr. Walt said, they were flying through outer space passing stars at warp speed.
“Will, look at this,” Danny said as he stirred the water with his hands and feet until they glowed with phosphorus.
“Cool,” Will said copying him.
Suddenly in a flash of radiance, a dolphin streaked under them and shot out of the water like a Roman candle. They cheered wildly as he splashed down in a spray of luminescence. Even Mr. Walt let out a hoot. There bodies tingled with sheer joy and wonder.
Will floated on his back and looked up at the stars. The Milky Way arched over them in a blaze of light. Folks who didn’t believe in magic had never seen anything like this, he thought.
Mr. Walt shook Will out of his dreaminess.
“Where’s Trout?” he yelled.
“He was picking fish out of the net,” Danny said.
“I told you boys to stay away from that net!”
Danny and Will swam to the back of the boat but couldn’t find him.
”Trout!” they all screamed.
Then Danny noticed the net jerking violently.
“Daddy, he’s in the net!”
“Get in the boat and pull it in,” Mr. Walt yelled frantically as he dived under the net for Trout.
When he got to him, the boy wasn’t moving. The last few bubbles of air had spilled from his lungs. Mr. Walt grabbed a wad of his pants and in one motion tossed Trout into the boat. Danny and Will pulled the rest of the net in and saw that the tickler chain had wrapped around a piece of Trout’s cutoffs. He’d fought hard enough to almost rip his pants off. But almost didn’t count underwater.
Even in the darkness he looked ashen. Mr. Walt knew how quickly the sea could take someone. He’d seen it too many times before. With calculated swiftness, he turned Trout on his side and pounded on his back. Then he shoved his fist into Trout’s stomach. The seconds ticked off agonizingly slow, as Trout’s body lay limp at the bottom of the boat. Three more whacks on the back and another punch in the gut. Like a fire hose Trout threw up what seemed like twenty gallons of water. Then he gasped and threw up again.
“Danny, keep Trout on his side,” Mr. Walt instructed. “We have to get him to Doc Jordon.”
Mr. Walt jerked the anchor off the bottom and into the boat in two yanks. Mud from the flukes splattered all over the bow but no one noticed. They were headed home at full throttle. At least Trout was semi-conscious and breathing. But Mr. Walt had seen people lapse back into blackness. He was determined; this was not going to be one of those times.
Will sat next to Trout and rubbed the hair out of this face. His forehead was clammy and he could only force shallow breaths.
“It’s okay Trout,” Will said, “you’re gonna be fine. I know it for certain. Anyway, you’re the toughest kid I know. Tougher than galvanized nails. And I’m really sorry I called you a butt face.”
Trout’s eye’s twitched toward Will. There was a blankness Will had never seen in his young life.
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