I awoke this morning to the mast shuddering and the boat bucking from fore to aft. It was earlier than I expected – 6:45am. Having gone to bed at midnight after a long day prior, I expected to sleep clear to 10 or 11 at the earliest. I’m trying to reawaken my morning person, though, so while this is unexpected, it is welcome.
From inside the cabin, it appeared that we were surrounded by grey skies, but when I ventured outside I was pleased to see a band of light to the South and East where the sun was rising. I always have a moment of self congratulation when I make it up in time for the sunrise. The wind is blowing from the North-Northwest, so it looks like we have more grey in our future. It appears that we made it in here before the weather, though the actual storm isn’t supposed to hit until this evening.
Both Jeff and I are hoping for two different weather events, potentially in the same day. We’re hoping for rain so that we can a) attempt to collect some freshwater in our tanks and b) attempt to clean our decks, which have accumulated a layer of salt on top of a layer of dirt. We’re also hoping for a ridiculously hot day so that we can either a) go for a swim or b) get out our weed sprayer and take a “shower.” It’s been at least 10 days since we last showered and we’re both starting to feel a bit grimy. I’m not sure that we’ll get either rain or sun, let alone both of them. If the wind keeps blowing, and neither the sun nor rain make an appearance, at least we’ll be able to get a hike in.
I set the tea kettle on the grill, anxious for coffee after several days without (I have a hard time drinking it underway) and returned to the cabin. A panga (fishing boat) zooms past our starboard side and moments later I hear a knock. It’s only 7:30, but they must have seen me up on deck.
“Hola! Amigos? (Hello! Friends?)” A voice calls out. Another knock.
Jeff still asleep, I open the hatch to see two fisherman. One is throwing seaweed and bycatch overboard, to the delight of Pelicans and other sea birds. He doesn’t look up. The other is running the motor and greets me with a wide, welcoming smile. Clearly the salesman of the two.
We exchange pleasantries and he asks me if I want to buy camarones.
“Que son camarones? (What are camarones?)” I haven’t learned seafood vocabulary yet.
As if on cue, the man in the front of the boat holds up a handful of what I thought were tiny lobsters (I wasn’t wearing my glasses). It turns out that they were gigantic shrimp. I agree to buy a medio-kilo (half kilo), but he gives me a full kilo for the same price. I insist that that’s not necessary, but he insists we take them.
He floats expertly aside our boat, fending himself off when he gets too close. He introduces himself, I introduce myself, we shake hands and exchange thanks. I wanted to ask him about all the pangas we saw last night. Why do they fish at night? Do they fish all night? What are they fishing for? Mostly shrimp? How lucrative is the industry here? What is the community of fishermen like? Is there a lot of competition or camaraderie? Where is the nearest market? Is there a lot of demand? Have they noticed a change in the stocks over the years? Is it getting harder to catch big beautiful shrimp or are they just as abundant as they’ve always been?
I have to build up to those conversations. For now I smile, thank him again and wish them both luck with today’s catch.