Float 5

Empty slips separate a dozen fishing boats. Marzy, Yaquina, Nyoda, Morning Tide. Names as unique as their owners, as their owner’s dreams. A blue skiff without rigging, motor, or decking. Lifeless, awaiting rebirth. A green and white double-masted schooner, the Chaser, sports a FOR SALE sign on the front of the cabin.

Twenty feet away on a thin rib of low tide mud a man tunnels down in search of small crabs, bait for hungry Coho, grouper. An official looking letter is tacked to the post at the head of the ramp leading down to float #5. A series of violations—all for improper (illegal?) storage of crab pots on the float. They threaten a fine of $225 with a now past due date for compliance.

The ramp is empty except for mooring ropes and a couple of bright green garden hoses. What makes this otherwise dull stage so appealing? The possibility of dreams fulfilled, the catch that at last pays off the mortgage, the danger. The knowledge that on some grey morning a boat will go out and not return.

Or the independence. Being in charge of your own fate with only yourself to rail against when the nets break or come up empty or the crew doesn’t return.

Starduster, Trinity, Lady Luck. The names say it all.