The next day was better. I set an alarm, so I’d managed to put a shirt on and drink half a coffee before Skipper started banging down my door. I pulled on my steel-capped boots before I left. That’ll keep the bitches off my toes, I thought.
I learned that wearing steel-capped boots on a boat was tantamount to suicide, because it was like having your feet encased in concrete if you ended up in the water. Skipper offered to throw me over the side if I didn’t believe him, promising me I’d sink like a rock. I worked in bare feet that day; I was back wearing rubber thongs on my feet the next day.
If you get the tub under the pot just right, the lobsters don’t fall on the deck and try to snap off your toes. If you grab them right round the middle, they can’t reach to snap at your fingers, either.
I learned to stay down when he was throwing the dead and undersized ones over the side. You don’t get hit if you’re lower than the sides of the boat. If you leave your steel-capped boots on deck while the dead lobsters are flying, Skipper uses them for target practice. I think he got some inside my boots, but most of it splattered on the outside. I left my boots on the veranda to air out, hoping the smell would be gone by the time I needed them again.
A cold shower is a bit more bearable if you wait till evening, when the water tank has been sitting in the sun all day. Then the water isn’t so freezing – it could be almost skin temperature.
One day, I managed not to get any rotten lobster on my shirt. I wasn’t bleeding and Skipper had actually told me, “Good job. See you tomorrow.” We were back earlier, too, so Vanessa was just stepping out onto her veranda with her steaming mug as I hit the path.
“Good morning,” I greeted her.
She shaded her eyes against the rising sun behind me and peered out.
“Oh, good morning, Joe. How was your catch this morning? I didn’t smell you coming. Didn’t you catch any of Skipper’s dead crays today?” She was laughing as she sat down, blowing the steam from her cup toward me.
“The lobster catch wasn’t too bad. All the dead ones went over the side, back in the water.” I actually sounded proud about it.
“So are you sick of fishing yet, ready to tell Skipper where he can stick his crays?” she teased.
“No,” I told her honestly. “It’s not that bad, if you take away the early starts and the bloody lobsters with their tails. Besides, I think Skipper knows where to put his lobsters after he’s caught them. He’s been fishing here for years. If I tried to tell him what to do with his catch, I think I’d be on the next plane back to Geraldton. Or maybe a leaky dinghy, with no motor and a paddle if I’m lucky.” I smiled. I’d also learned that Skipper’s sense of humour wasn’t always funny.
She looked surprised. “Hmm, Skipper could be right. You might make a good deckie.”
It was my turn to be surprised. “Why stick around if I’m only going to be a bad one? There’s no point in that.”
I headed back into my house. It was time for breakfast.