I've got crabs!

Ah!  Dinner at one of my favorite places.  Crabs on the beach.  That is the name of the restaurant, not a description of crustaceans in the sand. The hostess seated us at a nice table with a beautiful view of Casino Beach.  I carefully perused the menu, agonizing over which crab platter I should eat, finally deciding to have them all.  I ordered a delicious platter of ten blue crabs and a whole dungeoness crab.

Now, you must understand two things.  First, I am a crabaholic.  I love the stuff and could eat it all day.  Second, blue crabs come uncleaned.  They charge a fortune for them and then make you clean them yourself. It might bother some people, but I am not squeemish about it.  The waitress hesitantly asked me if I had ever had blue crab before, explaining with trepidation that they come uncleaned and can be quite a lot of work to eat, but they would show me how it was done.   No, I had not eaten blue crabs, but I had eaten red crab in Oregon and I figured they were pretty much the same thing.  Red, blue, they are all salmon after you cook them and they all look the same on the inside.  She donned her latex gloves to give me a demonstration on how to clean and eat these little delicacies.  I politely watched and let her finish her show.  She had no way of knowing that a little girl from Idaho knew very well how to eat these crabs.  Once she was done and had left the table shaking her head at all the crab that lay in front of me, I tackled the first crab.  It was a male. How you cleaned them depended on their sex if you can imagine. (I'm sure you can.)

Jay watched in horror as I deftly grabbed it's, you know, and ripped it from the shell.

Then I viciously, with an evil grin, tore the shell from it's lifeless body, ripped off it's lungs, and scraped out it's innards.  I tossed them wildly into the bucket sitting on the table for my scraps.  Jay was glad he was wearing his rain coat as he was splattered with crab juice and flying entrails.

I looked around at the other restaurant patrons sitting by us and they were all staring at me with that same opened mouthed awe and revulsion that Jay was.  I just sat there with crab juice and butter dripping from my chin and elbows, cracking shells and sucking the tender meat out of the legs and claws with my mouth.  It was incredible to watch, I don't care who you are.  

Eleven crabs later I was smacking my lips, Jay was wiping the flying pieces of crab and juice from his rain coat and handing me wet wipes.  I was wiping my face and squeezing lemons on my hands as the waitress gathered up the aftermath of crab shell carnage.  I walked out of the restaurant with my head held high.  I nodded and smiled at the man sitting behind me as he sat with his own platter of blue crabs.  He got his plate before me.  His wife had left the table and he was alone.  I swear I saw a gleam of respect in his eye as I passed by, but I can't prove it.  My husband is not grossed out by my behavior, although he probably should be, but this is why I married a Southern Redneck.  Tonight I will sleep well with dreams of crabs and melted butter floating in my head. 

Pelicans and Pin Fish

Another morning.  The sun barely up and we are off.  The days may start the same, Waffle House, bait shop, Ft. Pickens, but that is all that is routine.  We get here early enough that no one else has arrived.  Jay stakes out his spot on the Northwest corner of the pier and sets up his poles.  It isn't long before the others start to arrive.  The fishing pier is a community all its' own.  The people are a variety of young and old.  They come from all over and on the pier there is only one social class, the fisherman.  We meet people from Kentucky, Mississippi, Minnesota, Alabama and Tennessee. I sit quietly in my corner and listen to the old men swap stories of fish and ask each other what kind of bait they are using.  All day long there is a happy buzz of conversation and laughter.  I watch the newcomers as they admire the handsome Pelicans that hang around and seem to have no fear of the people.  I have been here a few days and I know these pelicans a little bit better.  I just grin to myself as they hold up their cameras and tell their companions to go stand next to that pelican so they can take a picture. I hope they will have their camera ready to snap that picture when their poor subject hears the loud CLACK! of that pelican's beak as he snaps at the person inching closer to him.  It is hard not to laugh out loud as the startled person jumps and runs away from that adorable little monster.  In my time here at the pier, I have become the resident pelican police.  These pelicans will snatch a man's fish while it is still on the line as he is reeling it in.  I saw a guy chase one down the pier that had his fish in it's beak and he had to literally pull his fish out of the pelican's gullet.  Another guy pulled a big mullet out of his cooler and set it on the table to cut it for bait and before he knew what was happening, that pelican jumped on the table and swallowed his fish and then walked up and down the pier for the next hour with that fish sitting sideways in his throat.  When Jay is cutting bait, casting his line, or reeling in a fish, it is my job to stand between him and the pelicans, waving a white terry cloth towel at the birds like a matador, shouting, "shoo you, go on, git outta here!"  while the pelicans back away, clacking their long pointed beaks at me.  Pretty soon all I have to do is get out of my chair with my white terry cloth towel in my hand and those pelicans would turn around and slink away, giving me dirty looks as they turn their heads around and look back.  Later in the afternoon a nice little family come on the pier.  There is a dad, mom and four very well behaved children.  The kids watch wide eyed, mouths open as Jay hauls in one blue striped pin fish after another.  One little girl inches closer to him on the rail and casts her line close to his, hoping the little fish will take her bait as well.  Jay finally hands her his pole when he  has a fish on and lets her reel it in.  She is so excited to pull in that little fish.  I, of course, am doing pelican patrol to make sure she doesn't have to fight the birds for it.  The other children watch with delight.  Jay generously hands his pole to another child each time he has a fish on until each one has had a turn to reel in a little fish.  The joy on their faces is priceless!  Another boy who has been fishing by us for about an hour starts to inch his way closer.  He watches what Jay does and tries to copy it.  He is so anxious to catch something.  He finally asks Jay what he is using for bait.  Jay tells him it is shrimp and the boy looks dejected as he informs Jay that he doesn't have any shrimp.  Jay then opens his tackle box and offers the boy his secret combination of hooks and weights and shows him how to rig his line with them.  Then he hands him some shrimp to bait it with.  The boy excitedly casts his line where Jay shows him to and before long he has a fish on.  He is bouncing up and down shouting, "I got one, I got one!"  while his dad tells him to reel it in.  Jay just sits in his corner and chuckles.  The boy's parents tell him it's time to go have dinner and he reluctantly leaves, vowing that he is coming back after dinner.  The sun starts to set and the people start to thin out.  One old man offers Jay his remaining bait as he packs up to go.  Each person says goodbye to the others still remaining as if they are old friends.  Soon everyone is gone.  The sun has set and the sky is dark.  Stars pop out in the sky and the yellow lights along the pier come on.  Lights from the buildings across the sound glisten on the black water.  The only sounds now are the quiet lapping of the waves against the shore and the occasional screech of the crane who has come to wait patiently for abandoned bait.  Another day is coming to an end.  Tonight we will sleep well, filled with fresh salty air and baked by the sun, then tomorrow we will go to the pier again and see what new adventures await us there.

Just a day at the beach.

I love the ocean.  It's always so alive and constantly moving and changing.  I can sit at the end of the pier that extends a half mile out into the blue green depths and watch the turquoise swales rise up, roll onto shore, and then crash into a white, frothy foam against the sugar sand of the gulf shore beaches.  It's like swaying gently in a hammock while sitting still on my bench.  Even with the roar of the waves all around, it's still serene and peaceful.  A gull screeches behind me.  A pelican inches his way towards my bag, convinced I'm hiding a juicy mackerel in there somewhere.  Just off the pier I hear the puff of air as two dolphins pop above the surf for a quick breath of air.  The wind is blowing hard, so hard it tears the hat from my head and into the open sea.  Two boys fishing for cobia run with their poles to my rescue and cast their large hooks at it in an attempt to rescue it for me.  Alas, the sea prevails and I am forced to walk the half mile back to the truck to fetch another one.  No worries though, the walk is pleasant and I breathe deep to take in the warm salty air.  Somehow at the ocean, having the wind whip my hair around my face is exciting and it exhilarates me.  Wearing just a light sweater is no problem because the winds here aren't cruel  like the winds at home.  The winds at home nip and bite and blast through many layers of clothes and laugh wickedly as you shiver and hurry to escape them.  Not so with the ocean winds.  They caress your skin and gently cool it without taking any heat from you body.  They giggle softly as they swirl about your ears and call, "come play with us.".  Now, in spite of the serenity and beauty, let's not forget that we are still the Shaws, and where the Shaws go, so goes weirdness.  Enter Cody, the most annoying fisherman on the planet.  Let me preface with, fishing is not really a spectator sport and does not require a running commentary.  In fact, long intervals of uninterrupted silence is generally the acceptable practice.  So, back to Cody.  We arrive at the Ft. Pickens pier to discover Cody, the gym shorts wearing, beer gut wielding "fisherman" and his camo clad newbie.  They have their equipment scattered from one end of the pier to the other.   There are empty cat litter buckets tied with ropes to the side of the pier.  (No, I do not know what for).  They have a variety of no less than 10 fishing poles lined up along the rails and secured with bungee cords so the killer whales I can only assume they thought they were going to catch, will not snatch their poles off the rail.  They have cast nets and drop nets and shark poles and shrimp poles, and Cody generously offered to let Jay use any of his equipment he wanted to.  All Jay really wanted was for Cody to shut up and leave him alone.  Cody happily chattered on about all his fishing experiences and stood next to Jay rattling off an endless barrage of questions.  I just sat back and watched carefully as Jay's trigger finger started to twitch.  The coupe de gras came when Jay got a tangle in his line and as he was working it out, Cody actually reached in and attempted to help him.  I jumped from my chair and braced myself to tackle Cody out of harm's way if I saw Jay go for his gun.  As it turned out, this was Cody's lucky day.  Jay just snapped, "I got it!", and in the first intelligent moment Cody had shown since we arrived, he backed away and said, "okay".  About that point, Jay decided it was in Cody's best interest that we go fish at the Navarre pier.  Once at the truck, I gave Jay a big kiss and told him he deserved a medal for his amazing self restraint, but the kiss would have to do.  Jay just has this salty old fisherman look about him that seems to attract people.  Even at the Navarre pier a young man fishing at the end of the pier came to chat with him at the rail.  A least this boy was an intelligent, respectful one who understood the unspoken rules of pier fishing and allowed the appropriate intervals of silence between his intelligent and relevant comments.  I have lived a lifetime in the beautiful mountains and forests of Idaho.  I have been inspired by the grandeur and beauty of a sunny mountain springtime and the glorious warm orange of fall, but I had never experienced paradise until I came to stay on the breathtaking beaches of the Florida panhandle.