There was no place to set my foot to make the leap to the stern seat. I’d put too many blueshell crabs into the shallow wash tub and several of them had climbed out and were running about the bottom of the leaky boat looking for something to attach their sharp claws to. My school shoes, a knockoff brand of the Converse all-star sneakers, were dry and out of harm’s way although I became really nervous when a crab climbed out of the net and fell into one of them. It soon climbed down onto the seat before I slapped it with the net and knocked it into the bilge. I was trapped. The only safe option was to paddle the skiff onto the shore and climb over the gunwale where I could walk around and begin rounding up the crabs. It took a half-bushel of bubble weed in the wash tub to cover them and prevent them from climbing out again. Propping the heels of my sneakers onto a rough piece of driftwood I was able to keep them dry as I rowed up to the boat house dock where one of the old timers I had promised a few crabs was waiting. The good-natured man began to tease me. “Can’t see any crabs in the bilge, so by the looks of things you were out collecting seaweed. My wife is really going to be disappointed. “ He was one of the members who had encouraged me to get after some blueshell crabs they could take home to their families.
Two men retrieved a heavy piece of cardboard they kept behind the Coke cooler and covered the top of the wash tub as they lifted it from the boat up onto the fish cutting board on the covered porch. “Be careful, Jimmy. Remember what happened to the caretaker the last time he pulled the cover off that tub.” Jimmy smiled and put his hand on the edge of the cover and pushed it toward his partner. As soon as his hand cleared the inside rim a large blueshell reached up and snapped a big claw onto his fourth and fifth fingers. He let out a howl and tried to grab the offending claw, but the other claw was reaching over backwards trying to grab the other hand. Blue shells are fast, much faster than you might think. Swearing a blue streak, he ran over to the bench and slung the crab and his hand against the hard wooden surface. The leg that bit him broke off but did not release its grip. I chased that one legged crab and cut it off before it made it to the edge and back into the water. I’d worked too hard to net them to allow them to escape.
I was sipping on a frosty Nu-Grape soda while my mentors carefully extracted the crabs with a pair of wooden tongs, long enough to keep the claws away from tender flesh. They each stuffed a half dozen in double grocery bags, with Jimmy giving me a dime and Norman trying to sneak out while I was busy talking to Jimmy.
The caretaker caught him at the front door and pushed him back toward the porch. “Did this skinflint give you any money?”
When I answered in the negative, he said he thought so and held Norm up for a dime. “Get your fat duff off the bench and get out and net your crabs the next time, you cheapskate.”
I had a cold soda, a Drake's chocolate doughnut from the caretaker's kitchen when another man had brought in coffee and a box of doughnuts to share with the caretaker.
“Be generous. Don’t give your hard earned catch away, but don’t try to get away without paying for something or trading it for a favor. Once you get labeled a cheapskate or a cheat, that reputation will follow you wherever you go."
That old man left grammar school in the sixth grade to work in the mill to help out his mother and siblings and worked in that oppressively hot environment for a few years before he took a part-time job working in a boat shop building and repairing wooden boats. After joining the yacht club, he was given free dues, charge of the kitchen and the overall day to day operation of the place.
He showed me how to net crabs, dig clams and row and scull boats. We recovered lost moorings that broke off in the winter and he taught me how to scrape a bottom, caulk the seams and protect that work with copper paint. He was also proficient at building a custom set of oars and making repairs on members' boats and putting on clam boils. He was a jack of all trades which provided him with a spartan but independent living. He did whatever it took to make a buck. He always had first dibs on my catches of crabs, fish, or shellfish but that day he was in the process of cooking up a clam boil for a group of members who had a few of these private dinners each summer. The caretaker was paid to source, cook and eat with them. It was good work if you could get it. He took four select crabs from my burlap bag and gave me a 50-cent piece before I headed off to the tavern to see what I could sell to the patrons on a brown envelope pay day Friday. Selling crabs at the two local taverns was always a gamble. I looked for the familiar and friendly customers and not the mean drunks who would not think anything of physically trying to kick me out of the adults-only bars. One of the dock builders was a friendly man who became more hospitable with a few drinks under his belt.
On occasion he would stick his elbow into the bag or bucket and allow the crabs to latch onto his skin through the material of his long sleeve shirt. They almost always drew blood upon removal and the only way we could detach them was to break off the offending claw, being extremely careful that the other claw didn’t turn around and attach to us. They are very agile animals. Back in those days, we caught most of our crabs netting them off the pilings of the club supports or the Shell Oil or Montaup docks. On many a day someone would spot a particularly large crab sunning itself on the fuel dock pilings and call for the net, which was usually stored on the porch during crab season.
During my lifetime, blueshell crabs have gone through numerous cycles of scarcity and abundance. On some years the Coles, Lees and Taunton rivers gave up huge numbers of those delectable crabs, and on others a half dozen on a tide was cause for celebration. Depending on conditions; this season has run from decent to good. The state of Massachusetts does not require a license for recreational crabbing; however, if you plan to use tended crab pots to catch crabs, you need a $5 license. All blue crabs must be 5 inches wide and the daily bag limit is a generous 25 crabs per person.
While I’m not as quick with the net as I once was, our friend Dan is a fantastic crabber. He has been clamming and crabbing since he was a child, helping in the family business which was operating a clam shack and fish market. He recalls Saturday mornings in season when the truck would arrive with crates of sand crabs, a total of 2000. The parking lot was full of patrons waiting for their treats, which sold for $2 a dozen. Dan was bagging crabs and cannot recall a single Saturday when there were any crabs left over to put in the cooler. Does anyone remember Arts Clam Shack on Wilbur Ave. in Somerset? Now is the time to get out the crab net, purchase some chicken wings and set up along the shore or pier for the feisty blue claws. We enjoyed a crab fest last night and look forward to a few more before those aggressive and tasty blueshells go into their winter hibernation.
The Link LonkAugust 22, 2020 at 06:34PM
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OUTDOORS: Augusts bounty -- stalking the blueshell crab - Fall River Herald News
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