my next door neighbor, an old fisherman, on our first meeting invited me to come along with him to see what professional ocean fishing was all about. normally work prevented this but when the winter holiday came around i took the first available opportunity to inquire again and was told to arrive next door at 7 am the following morning. i did so and we left straightaway by bicycle, proceeding through the crisp winter air of still empty streets to a house facing the harbor where several other men were standing out front around a small fire burning in a half-cut oil drum, warming their hands and smoking. all were clad in blazing purple or blue heavy duty plastic jackets and pants and only one still had the look of youth about him, the rest appeared finely weathered and well advanced in age. we continued standing around with little conversation for some moments until we were joined by a tiny old woman with jet black hair and an equally diminutive voice passing some conversation barely audible to me. suddenly, at an unperceived signal all besides the old woman turned in unison and crossed the road towards the harbor, boarding a shallow flat-bottomed ship on which were heaped a great masses of black netting and yellow, cigar shaped buoys. we crossed the harbor and boarded another, larger vessel, the second one deeper and longer, with an enclosed cabin standing tower-like in the middle of the deck and a series of covered holds lined up the middle. stacked around were various bamboo poles with nets or hooks at the ends and a collection of rectangular blue plastic containers large enough for a child to bathe in. one portion of the deck was dangerously frozen over from ice stored below, but the young one took care of that with a hose.
we set off toward the open ocean, soon leaving the placid harbor for the considerably longer and deeper swells of the greater pacific. the journey was not long before we arrived at and began to motor around a wide, circular collection of yellow and white buoys bobbing on the surface, our evident objective. the boat maneuvered into their midst and the fishermen began to seek out submerged lines with bamboo poles, hooking and drawing them in with the help of rotating mechanical drums on the boat's railing. for some time this drawing in of lines continued, eventually raising from the impenetrable darkness below a brown, algae covered net, the aspect of which was vaguely yet thoroughly frightening to me, some dim, bulging form just under the water's black surface, it's farthest extent indiscernible, suggesting some sort of massive, silent leviathan that might have swallowed me up, entangled me forever, dragging me deep into the frigid, soundless darkness, remorseless and terrible as any sea beast rising from the mysterious deep.
the buoys drew continually nearer until the entire net was collected alongside the boat and attached at various points to a pulley system suspended above. the recently risen sun shone low to starboard, reflecting metallic on the water, illuminating the faces of the fishermen as they collected the net rising before them, a dripping arabesque in silhouette against golden light. steam rose in the wave troughs, visible in sideways sunbeams as the boat rose and fell on swells that had travelled across the ocean and would soon unflinchingly dash themselves against shell-encrusted rocks and cease to exist. the net was drawn in until it made a shallow bowl filled with all manner of sea life, some swimming lazily, some desperately darting in every direction in search of an escape from that fatal place. a colorful myriad of small squid on the surface were collected and transferred to the child sized containers. my neighbor, his orange-hued sunglasses and permed silver hair gleaming in the sun, tapped with a bamboo pole the shell of a sea turtle swimming frantically in the corral. the turtle was scooped out and laid belly up on the deck, it's delicate, leathery white skin glaring brightly in the morning sun, it's paddle limbs flailing uselessly. i fancied the turtle implored me with it's black eyes and i felt very sorry that so noble a creature might soon meet an ignoble fate, and i powerless to intervene without greatly offending my hosts. some variety of massive jellyfish, nearly 2 feet wide, spherical, and quite solid floundered in the net. a diminutive stingray gracefully flapped it's wings, slowly searching for an exit. the net must have truly beguiled these creatures accustomed to the infinite breadth of the ocean.
suddenly a medium sized shark was thrown on the deck and one of the fishermen commenced to mercilessly bludgeoning it's head with a metal sledge! the shark squirmed and twitched rapidly, seemingly unaffected, neither it's blue body deformed nor it's movements slowed in the slightest by the repeated blows raining down. i hadn't known that a shark could be so deeply, truly blue, nor had i previously noticed the sledge on the ship's deck, much less expected such a combination of these elements. i experienced a bewildering fusion of wonderment and shock. the scene was thoroughly savage, a vicious barbarity that seemed to me wholly unnecessary and completely uncivilized. perhaps sharks are more dangerous than i imagine, even out of water and writhing in ice, but the attack seemed strangely personal, something that would register directly on the karmic scales to the benefit of one and detriment of the other. eventually spots of blood fell from the shark's gills and it was tossed into the icy hold. certainly that scene made a strong impression on me and seemed quite apart from the otherwise calm, impersonal business collecting the catch.
the net was drawn closer still and the contracting, encircled space became a vibrating mass of heroically struggling various fish, a great splashing noise vigorously spraying saltwater in every direction. a pulley-mounted scoop was brought in and the trembling, flashing, silver life was transferred to the icy hold through an open hatch. i've heard that freezing death, as experienced by miraculously revived mountain climbers and lost winter hikers, is ultimately a pleasant one, with feelings of peace and warmth filling the minds and limbs of the doomed before the end, but whether this is true for fish who could guess? certainly the ice slush seemed humane compared to the sledge. as soon as the last of the fish were collected the net was released and we set off for the harbor without any further procedures. when the encircling buoys were behind us the turtle was placed on the deck's edge and given kind encouragement to heave itself back into the ocean below, to my great relief. it spun as it fell from the ledge, splashing clumsily into the water.
along the way back we pulled up briefly alongside a floating, rectangular cage full of bulbous, spotted fish and the young fisherman strode precariously out on it's blue styrofoam floaters with a pole-mounted net to collect a few, the others pointing and indicating where the choice specimens could been seen swimming from the boat. an old man had rowed a small canoe out to the cage and seated himself on it's edge, pretending at least that he had no interest in the expensive fish therein, back turned towards the cage's interior, casting his line outward. the young fisherman preceded to collect floating leaves with the net and fling them out into the open water, arcing them directly over the old man's head so they landed directly in front of him, right where he was pretending to fish. "excuse me" the young fisherman said politely as he continued to fling refuse precisely in the old man's direction, but nothing else came of it.
shortly thereafter we pulled into the harbor alongside a sort of spacious concrete garage, open on all sides, where women in plastic aprons and a casually officious looking man with a fancy gold watch were waiting. the fish were sorted on a metal table, separated into containers by type and size, and relegated to the care of the old women. the sharks (there were two, although i hadn't been aware of the smaller one until that point) were drug by the tail across wet concrete into the center of the garage, where dark burgandy blood began to seep slowly from beneath the carcasses. i asked whether they were to be sold and eaten and received a positive reply. sorting concluded, the ship's deck was hosed down by the young fisherman and all the other fishermen boarded, casting off as i bowed and shouted my thanks from the concrete platform. everyone smiled. it was a fine, sunny warm winter day. a flock of brilliantly white egrets perched on a nearby ship, regally waiting to scavenge their next meal from the unaccounted for little fishes that had been hosed into the harbor water, now floating bellyup.
passing again through the garage to collect my bicycle from the nearby house, i paused once more to examine the exquisite, sensual form of the sharks, especially the one i had seen abused. it's rough skin glistened, a dark pool of blood had formed beneath it, spreading into the surrounding wetness of the concrete like crimson fingers of frost on an icy windowpane. i noticed the sides of it's body pulsating rhythmically, muscularly, contracting and expanding, creating momentary wrinkles in the now entirely grey skin. 'it's still not dead?' i inquired of one of the apron ladies. she grunted in positive agreement. 'still not dead', she said.