Recovering nicely

But first, heavy metal meets string quartet.

I had an image, leftover from the fishing trip, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I’m sure I can work it into a fine example of something, that’s for sure. Monday morning, I caught a Stingray, a half-dozen “hard heads” (catfish), and a nice speckled trout (not quite a keeper, either).

Plus Blue Crabs. Three of them. The fishing line would start to move, in once place, the bait was cut Croaker, and then the bobber started inching sideways. The guide handed the pole to me, “You got a fish,” and I’d reel in a crab. Having never seen Blue Crab in the wild before, not without batter, I was intrigued. I meant to get a picture, but I was just there, looking at this crab, hanging in mid-air, one claw gripping the bait, not hooked, mind you, but one claw holding on, while the mouth “things” were feeding.

“That one’s a male, you can tell by the (something or other).”

But that’s a perfect example, too. Three times, I got to see this. The little crab would latch onto the bait with his claw, usually his left claw, and he’d continue to feed even though he was being dragged through the water. Even though he was being held up for inspection. Bait was that tasty, as far as the crab was concerned, I guess.

I’d shake the pole, and eventually, he’d plop back in the water. On time, I watched as a big Redfish dove under the boat to grab the crab. A fine meal, I’m sure.

Two items really intrigued me about the blue crabs. One was the color, bright blue, a shade darker than sky blue, on the underside of the legs and claws, on the shell in places, too. The other fascinating point was the way it just held on, and kept eating, oblivious to its precarious predicament.

The way those little crabs would hold on? Reminded me of something. Or someone.

Unrelated:
Palm’s mistakes And buried treasure.

Cherchez le tres petite poisson:
Only time I felt fine was standing in the 100-degree sun light, with a pole in hand.

(Very small sample of a healthy black bass)