At one of my places of employment, I had learned that there were a few different ways that people retain information when being taught how to accomplish a goal. Take cooking, for example. While one person could read a recipe to find out what ingredients were needed, how to mix them, and then what way was best to cook the food. Another person might not be able to retain concentration long enough to prepare everything. The anxiousness from having too many things listed stops the process of learning. This person might find it easier to be shown how to gather the ingredients, prepare them for the titled dish, and then cook them. Finally, there might be those that could listen to someone reciting the recipe and how to prepare and cook it. The person in this instance would more than likely take notes, using verbiage that they understood.
In any of the examples listed above, once the person learns and tries out what they have learned, they can always take what they have learned and customize it to their own liking.
With that said, I have learned that when I am interested in the particular subject at hand, I can either read a book about it. Or I may ask to be shown how to accomplish the task.
This thought came forward with the memory I am writing about today.
Before I got involved with woodworking, I would often go fishing with my husband. It took a while to realize that when he suggested that we go fishing to “catch enough for dinner,” that translated to; we will be on the water all day. The time frame for all-day was: to be on the water no later than 6am and fish until 5 or 6pm; if the weather was warm and calm, it could go as late as 7pm. Have I mentioned that my husband loves to fish?
It had taken my husband a while to convince me to fish with him. But once he succeeded, I began to enjoy fishing. I am not crazy about eating what I catch, but that was also gradually changing. A surprising discovery for those around me was that I was not squeamish when touching fish.
Since I tend to be competitive, I would banter with my husband about who caught the largest fish. We naturally slid into a habit of making a mark on our fish to indicate who caught which fish when we counted our catch at the end of the day. My husband proudly told me that there really was no need to mark the fish, as he has never been beaten at fishing. I would smile and tell him I liked knowing how many I caught.
What usually happens with a conversation about who can or can’t do more, catch more, be more. I take it as a challenge to beat that person’s record. Nothing that would be mean or vindictive, just good old-fashioned and fun sporting competition.
I diligently watched how my husband fished the rest of that spring and most of the summer. The only thing I still could not do was bait my fish. Well, only if the bait used was sandworms. Sandworms have two extremely strong pinchers that it hurts when they pinch you with them! While they don’t draw blood, I still want nothing to do with them. One of my grandfathers had mischievously put one in the palm of my hand when I was five years old. Thinking it was just another kind of earthworm, I was intrigued. When it pinched me, I screamed and started crying. My grandfather thought it was funny. However, I was scarred for life.
By the end of July that year, I was beginning to be more consistent in catching fish. My husband was thrilled to see that I was becoming more agile with a fishing pole. I was catching bigger fish as well. The targeted fish were Winter Flounder, Blackfish, Summer Flounder, and an occasional Black Sea Bass. Best of all, most of my catches were now big enough to keep. Somewhere toward the middle of the following month, as we were pulling up anchor to head home, my husband, with great satisfaction, remarked how he was pleased with his catch for the day. As I looked his way, I raised my eyebrows in question as I politely corrected him by saying, “our catch, right?” He explained that he had been referring to that he had caught the largest blackfish. I wish I had a picture of the look on his face as I leaned over from where I was standing, opened up the live well, scooped out the biggest blackfish, and flopped it down on the floor right in front of him. “I believe I caught the biggest fish today, see? There’s my mark right there on its neck.”
To be fair about the description of the look on his face, I must add that the shock was not that I had caught the biggest fish, but that I willingly touched the fish! How could that be? I was a woman, and women hated the feel of slimy, slippery things.
The competition had begun! To be honest, it really wasn’t a competition, more like a goal to reach. My husband was so proud and happy that I finally became a fishing partner. I no longer sat on the boat’s floor, reading the entire time he fished. He told me that he loved when I caught “keepers.” He explained that while he still strives to catch a trophy fish, he has no problem when I also bring in the larger fish.
All this time, I had been paying attention to the tip of my husband’s fishing rod. How it looked when my husband would yank the line hard to hook the fish on the other end. In the beginning, I couldn’t even see the tip move, then one day, as I was looking, I saw what I thought was a slight breeze vibrating the end of the pole. Wham! My husband pulled hard, and sure enough, there was a fish on the hook. By the way, the rod bent seemingly almost in half, I was positive that there was a massive fish on the line, and I was correct. It was the biggest winter flounder I had ever seen! I didn’t understand why the tip of the pole only wiggled ever so slightly with such a giant fish? I asked my husband, and he told me that Winter Flounder only have little tiny mouths, that they can open only so far and will nibble on the worm on the line. He then added that when I caught the blackfish, I actually had felt the fish slam into the fishing line. That was because blackfish have larger mouths and teeth. The bait on the line for them is usually green crabs. The blackfish come in and grab the crab as they are swimming by. The person holding the pole has to be ready to yank the line as soon as they feel the slam of the blackfish, as it is that fast. One second later, the fish is gone.
One afternoon at the end of summer, we arrived back at the marina where we kept our new boat. Most of the other patrons of the marina had left for the day. The routine with docking consisted of me making sure the boat did not rub against the dock and jumping out when my husband had it close enough. I would then tie off the rope at the back of the boat. My husband would tie off the front. Then he would have me take a break while he cleaned. It didn’t matter how often I asked him to let me help; he would always say the same thing, “no, thank you anyway. I have a routine that anyone helping would only get in the way. Go relax; this won’t take long.”
I stepped out of the boat onto the dock and started my walk around the marina’s waterside. I found it very entertaining to look over the edge of the wall into the water. From a distance, the water always seemed so calm and serene. Depending the tide levels were what made a closer look so entertaining. There was not much activity to see on this particular day as the tide was high. The water was calm but murky. I could not see to the bottom, where there might be crabs scurrying around the rocks and sand. I had made the walk all around the ocean side of the marina. I was now just about back to the dock leading to our boat when I saw movement directly below me in the water. I finally figured out that there was a sizable blue crab in between the rocks halfway down to the bottom of the wall where I was standing. I could see one claw that would stick out and then retreat into the wall. I stood there watching this crab for about five minutes before I got a brainstorm of an idea.
On occasion, my husband and I would go crabbing instead of fishing. We would hook raw chicken drumsticks to a line and toss them out in shallow water and wait until we felt tugging on the line. We then would slowly draw the cord back in and net the crab on the chicken leg. Netting a crab is a bit trickier than netting a fish. Crabs are very aggressive. They will strike out with their claws. Should they catch you in their grip, they will not let go. Blue crabs are strong enough that they can literally break your finger.
I marked my spot where I was standing and went back to the boat for the net and also my fishing pole. When my husband saw me take the net, he knew it was because I had found a crab. He was not expecting me to take my fishing pole and asked me what I was going to do with it. I told him I wasn’t sure yet.
Since the boat was just about 20ft away and facing the wall where I was standing with the net poised to catch the crab. My husband stopped his cleaning to watch me.
I lowered the net to the level I thought the crab was at, and sure enough, it swiped its claw at the net. But that was all it did. I raised the net and lowered it again, and once again, the crab took a swing at the net. I positioned the net a little farther out into the water but stayed at the level where he was hiding. Then with my other hand, I took the fishing pole with the tip pointing towards the water and slowly lowered it into the water down close to the wall. When I had the net ready, I moved the tip in front of the crab, and sure enough, he swung at it. I gradually moved the tip out away from the hole in the wall, and low and behold, the crab followed it out into the water! He was now trying to grab the fishing pole with his claws! I quickly scooped him up into the net and out of the water.
I looked up at the boat, ready to call out to my husband, and was surprised to see him already watching me. The look on his face was clearly disbelief at what he had just witnessed. He asked incredulously where I had gotten the idea to use my fishing pole. All I said was, “Me! I have been watching and paying attention to the nature of a blue crab.”