The Waterman: A Novel of the Chesapeake Bay by Tim Junkin Read Free Book Online Page B

turned to hear better.
    â€œThe boat was weighed down with the ice. It had caked around it. Like a skin. And fish in the hold and in the net too. They say one of them was probably on the rail, trying to knock the ice off, and slipped and went over. Seth tried to back up and took a wave over the stern, which was already way low. From all the weight. They radioed for help. Two other boats had just left ’em and weren’t more’n ten minutes away. But she sank fast. They found the boat under water to its canopy top. And they was all froze. The two brothers were floating right there, arms wrapped tight around each other. Found the father, miles away down water, locked onto an ice pack. Never did find Seth.”
    Clay took a breath.
    â€œYeah,” Byron answered it.
    â€œRemind me never to go ice trawling.”
    â€œI will.”
    â€œKeep your eyes sharp now.”
    â€œI’m lookin’ for ’em. If they even came out here, that is,” Byron answered. “Hell, we could ride around all morning and never find ’em in this shitstorm, even if they are here.”
    Clay checked his depth finder and studied the chart again. He moved the bow around farther to the east. The bateau felt solid still, even in the chop. They plowed forward.
    â€œKeep looking,” Clay said. “I figure we’re getting close.”
    The rain and sea spray swept laterally across their bow. Momentslater they seemed to cross through a fog bank into a clearing. Through the clearing and into the wall of mist on the other side appeared the shape of another, bigger boat.
    â€œThere they are!” Bryon said. “You found ’em!”
    Ahead, Clay made out the haul boat and gradually recognized Barker Cull and three others slicked up in foul-weather gear. Behind Barker’s boat he just made out the tips of the pound stakes, stripped pine trees that had been driven deep into the river bottom, running along in a linear hedge for several hundred yards, perpendicular to the prevailing current, and supporting the net. The schooling fish, following the current, would be intercepted by the net, turn away from shore, and follow the net into a circular enclosure, or pound, that funnels them into the trap net, from which few fish escape. Clay pulled up alongside Barker, close enough to shout but not so close as to get wave slammed.
    â€œYou fella’s half crazy comin’ out here in this blow,” Barker bellowed. He seemed to be smiling despite the rainwater and spray spewing across his face. “Earl didn’t believe you’d come, Clay. Or even that you’d find us out here below the bar. I figured different.”
    â€œWhat’s your trouble?” Clay shouted. “Looks right friendly out here to me.” He smiled in turn.
    Barker was a big man, about six three and maybe 240 pounds. He had played fullback and linebacker for Easton High and taken them to the state championship some years back. Had a scholarship to Towson State but had only lasted one year and then got drafted. He had been home a year or so. Clay felt a bond with Barker. After Clay’s father had left him, Barker had taken Clay on as crew occasionally on his workboat and on his log canoe, which he raced, and Clay had always been grateful. Barker was able on the water. Clay admired what he did. There weren’t many pound netters left.
    â€œBeely had his appendix out,” Barker shouted. “Won’t let anyone run his boat. Pa can’t help ’cause his back went out Tuesday. Webeen waiting too long to pull already. Moon’s full and there’s been a good run of fish. And I can’t get no help now. Not in this kinda shit. Traps are full and the fish are smotherin’. Nets are gonna tear if I don’t haul. Particular in this blow.”
    Barker reached into the cabin of his haul boat and grabbed a towel and wiped his face.
    â€œY’know my little brother, Earl,” he