south end somalia
Down here where the island rises up from its mudflat beginnings 20 miles to the north and finally juts a chin proudly out above the smug Hat Islanders who post NO TRESPASSING signs every 50 feet warning us to steer clear, we tend to examine issues from above the ordinary fray of sea level. Course we may also suffer, in such altitudes, from oxygen deficiency — which may explain more than we care, or need, to examine.
I been noticing lately down at the South End Marina and Bait Shop, a lot of loose talk from the lay-about skippers how the fishing industry — meaning THEM — has been pole-axed, or at least gill-netted, by these damn government regulations. Closures one day, openings 60 miles west another, zone 8-12 one week, you can crab, but not in zone 7. How in Blue Hell you gonna make a living motoring to Hood Canal Tuesday then up to the San Juans Wednesday and back down to Camano Friday? It’s enough to drive a sailor to drink! Even more….
The days of the great salmon herds are gone the way of the buffalo, that much is true, but the why of it, well, the Ahabs blame everything from the Southendomish tribe to the spotted gooeyduck. They’d even blame the eagles if it didn’t seem positively unpatriotic. I don’t say too much when the fleet is drydocked like this, too much land under their boots and too much rotgut under their gills. But occasionally I’ll hazard the opinion that the salmon have gone the way of the old growth nettle forests, over harvested, ill managed and maybe we got our own selves to blame. If I brought the rotgut, they tolerate this —- if I’m drinking on their dubloon, it gets a lot dicier….
Truth is, they’ve tried everything from charter fishing to eco-tourism, hoping the CEO’s of San Diego and Frisko, Portland and Smokey Point might be satisfied with a couple of less-than-trophy sized flounder if the flasks flowed freely and the only whoppers were the tall tales of a bygone Puget fishery. It wasn’t long before the only reservations for once proud bottom fishers were for birthday parties for Weyerhauser exec’s kids. Trust me, they swallowed more than their pride.
Fishing on the South End is more endangered than naked mermaids. Their kids will be lucky to fish for perch with a pole and a bobber. But hard times make men desperate. We’re no stranger to desperation but desperation is no mother of invention. The other night, sitting on the poop deck of Coho Bob’s trawler as it slowly gathers barnacles and we quickly gather liquid courage, the talk turned loose and Pete, a one-time tug captain, mentioned he’d been watching the oil tankers idling off Anacortes the other day. Ripe for the picking, just like the Somalians, he said quietly, maybe hoping nobody would remember tomorrow.
This is what it’s come to. Poverty, alcoholism and now….. piracy. Hard times make desperate men and you can take that to the bank … even if the tellers won’t deposit it. All I can say is Anacortes needs to take precaution. And Hat Island. Well, you’ll need more than your uppity signs….
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