ARCHIVES

Summer 2005 - VOL. 4 # 4

All In A Day's Work: Making A Living By Fishing

© Hermann Trappman, Gulfport
A wall of ominous darkness rolled up the last shreds of sunset. Spiny branches of lightning crawled across the sky. Thunder exploded and roared against the pitching bay waters. The flashes illuminated our busy hands pulling mullet through the snare of the gill-net. The two boats, a launch and its skiff, nosed around away from the wind and the growing waves.

Once the net has been run out, you can't just quit and leave. Gill-nets are long nets with a cork line on top to keep the net afloat and a weighted lead line at the bottom to pull it down, so that it hangs vertically underwater. The fish plunging into the mesh weigh the net down and finally the net will begin to sink under their weight.

We pulled the net up onto a flat deck at the back of the skiff, the net table. As we hauled the net up, we grabbed each fish, and with a twist, pulled them through the mesh. In one motion, the freed fish were tossed into the bow of the boat.

The gusting wind piled the waves up in jagged rows of foamy crests. We began to feel the raindrops. Big cold drops stung our faces and arms. They were scattered at first, but soon they came down in bursts.

We didn't think, we worked. The launch swung at the end of the rope, occasionally giving the skiff a hard jerk. The waves splashed in. We kept working. The skiff couldn't rise on the waves, the heavy net held the stern down. The water rushed over the sides, swirling around our legs. We were knee deep in water. The wooden skiff would only sink so far. Rain blinded us, stinging our eyes, and streaming off our chins. The inky surface of the swells was burnished into a froth by the downpour. We kept working.

My brother Bill looked back toward the launch. The weight of both the net and the skiff was pulling the larger boat down. "We're sinking," he shouted. He splashed to the bow of the skiff and hauled on the rope tying us to the big boat. Once we were close enough, he jumped to the back of the launch. I held the net so that it didn't feed back out, back into the dark churning water.

Over my shoulder, in the flashes of lightning, I could just make Bill out, frantically bailing with a hand-bailer. The powerful and heavy inboard engine on the big boat would drag us down to the bottom. The launch had taken on so much water that Bill couldn't start the engine until the water level was drawn down. Without the engine, the pumps remained lifeless.

"Get out!" he waved. "Get out!"

I stood there bewildered for a moment, not certain of what I'd heard, not believing it.

"Get out," he shouted again through the roar of the thunder. I looked at the black water. "Get out." I jumped. The water closed over me. It was warm beneath the waves.

Take your time, I thought. Don't kick. I rose to the surface and gulped a breath. Most of the net was still out. Fish struggled in the watery darkness, and that attracted predators. Sharks and dolphins swim along net-lines looking for an easy meal. It was my experience that sharks don't usually bother people, but in the confusion I found myself, I didn't want to tempt fate by thrashing around. Rather than let my legs dangle, I tried to float to one side.

Easy, relaxed, purposeful motions, I told myself. I'd gulp another breath. In the darkness, it was hard to tell where the boat was. Don't loose sight of the boat, I'd remind myself. It seemed like a long time until I heard the sound of the motor kick in. I knew that the pumps would save the launch.

Out of the darkness, I saw the hand of my brother. In moments I was back aboard the skiff. We both bailed as hard as we could. The entire net had slipped overboard. We'd have to find it. It would be a long night.

Resources for Reconstructing the Ancient Past

To rediscover the feeling of ancient people fishing on Tampa Bay, I often think about my youthful experiences working as a commercial fisherman. I remember cold northwesters blowing off the Gulf and mornings that were so perfect, so beautiful that they filled you with wonder. Sunlight ribbons danced down through the water and you could see fish in all their colors. There was a smell to wood saturated by saltwater and netting treated to withstand immersion. There was the taste of the salt-flavored wind blowing off the Gulf. There was the sound of seagulls and the skilled formations of pelicans drifting past.

The mullet ran throughout the late summer and autumn. Schools of Spanish mackerel ran in the winter. I imagine the ancient fishermen stringing their nets out on good days, scanning the horizon in hope that the weather would hold.

At Key Marco, archaeologists found netting with sticks for floats and shells for leads. From my experience it doesn't seem likely that these sticks could really hold a net full of fish up. Once the net sinks, the fish would just slip out.

There is good archaeological evidence for the Native American fishing industry. William Marquardt and the team from the University of Florida in Gainesville have made a wonderful contribution to our understanding of fishing in the Charlotte Harbor area and more specifically at the southern end of Pine Island. Their research has established the importance of fishing to these early cultures.

The Gulf Coast estuary was rich in marine resources. The bounty was so great that the American Indian's of this coast had an excellent economy which afforded them the growth of a sophisticated temple mound society.

I imagine the ancient people working net-lines, strung along posts that were hammered down into the sandy bottom. Waist deep, they work the nets with dugout canoes in tow. The struggling fish would attract blue crabs as well as sharks. Fishermen often display a stoical indifference to the dangers surrounding them. They focus on the task at hand.

The research for paintings depicting the original people of Florida is an adventure in itself. Often, there are long arduous studies, treks into a variety of scientific disciplines, punctuated by exciting discoveries. And in the end, it is our connections, the wonder of our common humanity, that is the most powerful discovery of all.