I went out on a shrimp boat once about 11 years ago. It was through friends of my sister I got the opportunity. We meet at the docks at sunset and readied the boat. Or more like they readied the boat and I stood there with my hands in pockets watching. The night before I had worked an overnight shift at my job. I had not had an opportunity to sleep during the day and was exhausted.
But whatever, as it was pointed out to me recently, I have an excuse for everything.
When they did whatever it is they did to get the boat ready, we cast off. Shrimp boats aren't that big but they aren't small either. Bigger than anything I had been on piloted by a guy who dropped out of high school, not to belittle the guy. I mean they didn't teach shrimping at Ridgewood or anything beneficial that I took away anyhow, and this dude knew his stuff. He did the things that shrimpers do or did.
I am not too sure if this is even a profession anymore down in Florida. I read somewhere it was closed off now, too expensive to compete with farms and South East Asia.
Anyway as we moved away from land and the sun sank down into the horizon exploding into the colors of a typical Florida sunset I was ill prepared for what lay ahead of me.
Darkness.
A darkness so pure that at times I wondered how the pilot knew what was out there. Occasionally a horn would sound off in the distance and occasionally the pilot would sound his horn. There would be a flash of red, a tiny little blink off in the distance that told of either land or another boat.
They would do a run and drop anchor and shut the engine off and sift through what their nets picked up from the Gulf floor and there would be silence, the water lapping against the boat disappeared it seemed and on this little wooden deck we were suspended in nothingness so pure it was terrifying.
I think I was supposed to help, but couldn't keep my feet under me with all the swaying so with the rocking boat and my exhaustion I dozed in the cabin on the captains chair feeling a little guilty.
I think of this while reading about Diana Nyad. She had to quit again. I hate she was pulled from the water 55 miles after starting her journey. I hate that she made it closer to her target then she has ever managed to do in her other attempts thus far. I picture her during the storm, lightning flashing all around fighting to get back in the water.
A water filled with sharks and jellyfish.
The sharks freak me out the most.
When I was kid I would fish in the Gulf with one of buddies from middle school, Jimmy, we used shrimp as bait, and I caught a huge Remora, hauling it up into the boat snappen my pole. In my head we were inches from a hammerhead shark or tiger shark when Jimmy told me what it was and what it did. It had a big angry looking suction cup head and wiggling body. Jimmy killed it unconcerned and cut it up to use as bait.
I dont remember catching anything else that day.
Knowing what I know now it probably came from a docile Nurse Shark sleeping on the gulf seabed, but the idea of the size of that creature down there has affected me my whole life.
Nyad probably fought to go back in the water with the sharks swimming close enough to be spotted by her crew. She knew they were there. She stopped occasionally to drink and eat and I am sure her team would say, “hey, I am seeing lots of shark fins and stuff.”
“No worries I will continue to count and sing to Florida,” She probably retorted lisping through her jellyfish stung lips.
She claims to have braved the dark and the sharks and the jellyfish to show people over sixty dreams can come true. That the attempt is better than not doing anything at all.
I was disappointed when I found out she had to stop 48 miles from her goal, but at the end of the day I guess I am inspired by the idea she will try again, or someone else will, or it will remain a body of water that is uncrossable by swimming. I am okay with that also. At least we didn't need to rename it the The Strait of Nyad.
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