Nothing makes you feel like more of a man than to catch food for your family. Or so I’m told. So far, my efforts to pull anything edible out of the sea have proven completely fruitless. The single helmet conch that I got in the Bahamas made the boys and I sick, so I’m not going to count that.
We tried fishing, but only landed a couple of barracuda. Ciguatera is no joke, so we threw them back. I’m sure we’ve had plenty of beautiful Mahi Mahi on the lines, but they’ve all gotten away.
Fear not they say! When you get to the East Coast, all you have to do is tie a chicken leg to a piece of string and put it in the water. The crabs will practically climb up into your stew pot.
Excellent, I say. I can totally hang a chicken leg on a string.
Except we don’t really eat a lot of chicken on the bone. Mostly boneless breasts. It’s a bone thing for some of the family. No biggie. I stopped by a bait shop in Amelia Island, FL to see if they could help.
Them: No problem! I have some fish carcasses in the back, let me go grab you one.
Me: Great! How much do I owe you?
Them: Oh, nothing. It’s just waste.
Nice. Not only am I gonna get a hundred crabs for dinner, but it’s going to be totally free!
Nope.
Back on the boat, I get out a huge knife and begin hacking away. After cutting myself on the fishbone, I manage to get a bit of the tail section off. I tried to put it on a large fishing hook that came with the boat, but it just wouldn’t stay on. Not to be discouraged, I opted instead to put the whole fish on the hook.
Dreaming of those succulent morsels, I tied the hook to some fishing line and lowered the bait off the back of our boat. The boys and I take turns pulling up crab after crab. Wait, that was spelled wrong. We took turns pulling up crap after crap. Nada. Zip. No crabs. No bounty.
Until the final time we pulled it up and the line was completely cut off. Apparently crabs have sharp claws.
Strike one.
But, hey: Woo hoo! Obviously there are crabs, because they cut the line! This is a problem that can be solved. All I have to do is make sure that all the bits that are near the bait are metal. I brainstorm a bit and something triggers a memory of fishing as a kid. On the rare occasion that we caught something back then, we’d put them on this metal stringer thing. Perfect!
Nope.
I mentioned that we usually don’t have chicken legs laying around, and now I’m also fresh out of fish carcasses. Once my newly acquired stringer arrives from Amazon, I give it a go with a bunch of chunks of boneless chicken breast that are a little past their prime.
Again, the boys and I eagerly lower the bait, and gently pull the line up. Over and over. Nada.
Then, nada for real. All the bait was gone.Sigh. Apparently crab claws can snip off tender chicken breast pretty easily. I’m gonna need better bait.
Strike two.
By this time, we’ve made it up to the Chesapeake, where the serious crabbing happens. At the first marina we get to, the shore power outlet conveniently decides to catch fire, so I need to take a trip to West Marine to get some parts. While I’m there, I spy some legit crab traps. Those things are huge! Two feet by two feet cubes, and we could never get them on the boat.
But…staring at the traps leads to conversation with one of the employees.
Him: chicken breast? No, it’s gonna have something hard in it to hook around. We sell chicken necks…that would work.
Me: excellent! I’ll take a hundred!
Just kidding, I only bought 20. Never did I think I would buy 20 chicken necks. Anywhere. Ever.
While I’m waiting for my ride, my brain keeps thinking back to a little collapsible basket thing I saw on my way out. Most states (except Virginia) force non commercial crabbers to use one of these to make sure the population doesn’t get decimated. The idea is that you put the bait in the middle, lower it down, and then pull it up a few minutes later. The sides of the basket raise up as you pull, trapping the unsuspecting diner in the basket. Idiot proof crabbing! I’m an idiot, so I really need something idiot proof, so that could work. When my ride cancels, I take it as a sign and run to buy the basket before requesting a new ride.
Meredith chuckles when I get back. I went for an electrical outlet and came back with chicken necks and a poor man’s crab trap. At least I remembered the outlet.
The boys and I can’t wait to try it, so we load up a net and lower the basket off the back of the boat. We saw crabs swimming earlier, so this is going to be a piece of cake! It was a piece of something.
We must have lowered and raised that thing a dozen times before the bait just disappeared. Then we combined strategies and used the stringer to tie down the bait on the basket to keep it from getting statched away. Then we got one! Well, sort of. It was closer to a hermit crab than something we could eat. Back in the water for you my friend.
Strike three.
At our next stop up the coast, I ended up at West Marine again with a buddy boat friend that was returning some line (rope). I kept staring at those big traps. There’s no possible way that I could even remotely fail at crabbing if I had one of those. No way, no how. But, there’s also no way it’s fitting on the boat.
Or is it? No. Yes? No.
I seeded the idea with Meredith when I first saw the traps, and have been slowly wearing down her resolve since then. At this point, she gives me the “just buy it” to get me to shut up. Ok. So I buy it and shut up.
I now have a legit crab trap. I can use up to two of them without a license as long as we’re in Virginia.
We. are. Never. Going. To. pay. For. food. Again!!! I will be the hero!
I’m practically shaking with anticipation when we’re back on the boat. The boys and I put all of our remaining chicken necks into the steel bait box of the trap. No way any crab is going to cut that open. We then put in a scuba weight to make sure that it will get to the bottom, and enough line and a float to make sure we can find it.
I’m ready to heave it in!
One! Two! Three! Heave!
The trap hurls outward…..
Then it flips over, and traps the entangled line under its rapidly descending hulk.
I practically cry as I watch the entire trap disappear into oblivion. On the very first attempt.
I hope in vain that the float will dislodge and we’ll see it bobbing happily along the next morning.
Nada.
Strike four
Did I mention that I know very little about baseball?
I may be an idiot, but I’m no idiot. I know when to give up. Clearly Poseidon has no interest in me catching my own crabs. Right then and there, I promise Meredith that I’m done trying, and that we’ll just buy some crabs at the next fishmarket we see. She gives me a reassuring hug, but I can just feel her smiling and saying “it’s about time” to herself.
We get a chance the very next week, and order up a dozen at the DC wharf fish market. They give us three dozen instead, and cook them up perfectly for us. This is going to be great!
Finally, crabs! We brought them back to the boat, and spread them out on the table and go to town. The boys have never actually had blue crab, so I teach the boys how clean and eat the morsels. What ensues is a bit like an anatomy lesson given by Edward Scissorhands. Bits of crab-shell and crab-lung fill the cockpit (back porch) in a vain effort to get enough meat for a meal.
After months of trying to catch our own, they get their first bite.
And hate it.