Morris High School - Yearbook (Bronx, NY)

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ONE FISHY, FOGGY MORNING My inner man warmed by a cup of steaming coffee, I threw the sweater about me and proceeded to the rendezvous of the back porch. Here Hall and Ross had preceded me and were preparing the bait-about a hundred live killies in a pail of water. Hall went down to the boat-house, Ross and I following in a few moments with the tackle. By the time we reached the beach, Hall had the boat on the sand, and then ensued fifty yards of pushing, lifting and rolling-a matter not to be despised. Even since we had risen, the fog, instead of melting away with the dawning day, as we had fully expected, seemed to get thicker and thicker. From the spot on which we were standing, not a glimpse of the water would we get, though the pounding of the surf sounded distinctly in our ears. Then a lively little discussion took place. Should We go out, and risk being run down by some venturesome craft too far in-shore? Or should we turn back without making a try? Mr. Ross was for turning back at once, but Hall summed up as follows: We can go right out to the bell-buoy, where there's no danger of being run down, and then, fluke bite well on a morning like this. That settled it. Ross got into the boat and put the oars in the row-locks, while Hall and I, waiting until a wave larger than usual crashing down on the beach, pushed her out on the returning tide of seething water. We waded out to the thighs, then jumped on the stern and fell in. But out little fishing trip was almost nipped in the bud, for it transpired that Ross was not the man to get a light boat through a heavy surf. In spite of the impetus our pushing had given it, the boat's head began to turn, and we all should have had a pleasant ducking had not Hall literally snatched the oars out of the other's hands, using some strong language in the operation. He put her head to just in time to let us slip over, instead of through, a gigantic green roller which lapped our sides in passing as though loath to let us go unharmed. Hall continued at the oars, pulling directly for the buoy, half a mile out, which we heard tolling inter- mittently through the murky mist. We reached it without mishap and, throwing out a light anchor to prevent undue drifting, settled down to the business of the hour. Our lines were soon baited and thrown overboard, and the game was on. The tide was running strong, and in spite of the fact that we had our heaviest sinkers attached, they dragged away so quickly that very soon the point where the line entered the Water was lost to View in the mist which hung like a dark pall over the sea. Two-five-ten minutes passed. Hall had pulled up his line twice. The first time his bait had mysteriously disappeared, the 20

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Une Zliiahg, Zlinggg Hlnrning .Q-:Q ' 'E had been discussing the War in all the sharps g9's'2D1m , . Gallia? , and flats ever since, after supper, we had come i , f' out on the cool, salt breeze-swept veranda. Now the talk, by common consent, veered into normal ocean resort discussions on various congenial topics, fluke-fishing among the rest. CFluke, my uniniated 1 In friend, is a species of flounderg habitat, Atlantic Coast from Newfoundland to Cape Hatterasj. NIL Rigler, relating the story of an eighty-three pound catch made by three friends the previous morning, concluded by addressing Mr. Hall. f'Frank, Why don't you and Ross go out to beat that to-morrow morning? At this, I, Who had been trying to doze off for half an hour past, rubbed my eyes 'and sat up, all attention. Now, I am an ardent, if amateurish, disciple of Isaac Walton,-and this looked like business. lVIr. Hall glanced at Ross, Who agreed, rather half-heart- edly it seemed to me, but raised the mild objection that it would be difficult for the two of them to get the boat through the surf. This was my cue, my services were volunteered on the spot, and accepted. An appointment was made for five the next morning, and the subject dismisseed. Half-past nine found me abed with a formidable looking alarm clock set for 4:45 at my head, my bathing suit ready to slip on, and a pair of old trousers and a sweater handy, in case of fresh weather. Rather excited at the thought that on the morrow I was going to make my first catch of the season, I had some difficulty in falling asleep. Finally my cot turned into a tiny row-boat tossing to and fro on a vast expanse of angry waves, While I, leaning over the side, stretched a wonderfully elastic right arm down-down into the green billows, feeling about on the sandy bottom for fish. For days I groped about, but not one could I catch. After fruitless weeks had passed, I barely succeeded in touching one-it groaned heavily in a deep, rumbling voiceg another-this one snorted shrilly thrice, still another-and it shrieked aloud. The snorting and shrieking and groaning and moaning continued-continued for hours, until a loud, throbbing r-r-r-r-ing broke the spell. lVIy arm snapped back to its normal length, the boat became a bed once more, and I sat up, chilled and cold. But the wierd noises of the night before had had their foundation in fact, for blast after blast from fog-horns and sirens of every description, some far, some near, some high-pitched and shrill, some vibrant and deep, came to my ears from over the water. Proof positive that the morn was foggy. 19 as

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UNE FISHY, FOGGY MORNING second, a small fluke made its appearance. Neither Ross nor I had a nibble. Suddenly I felt a slight jerk on my line, followed by a heavy spasmodic pull. I reeled in hurriedly, calling upon Hall to get a harpoon ready for the whale that I was bringing up, and almost upsetting the boat in my excitement. So saying, I turned to glance at Hall in triumph. He was crouched, half sitting, half standing in the bow, in an attitude of rapt attention-gazing out to sea. Ross was seated on the middle thwart, like a graven image, with a face as pale as death itself-listening. Unconsciously my fingers ceased their nervous reeling ing I stopped and listened, too ...... What was that muffled, indistinct sound? ..... Hark! There can be no doubt about that-a man's deep, husky voice coming from an immeasurable distance, like a voice from another world, uttered the words, !Stern! 'Stern! A moment later came a dull crash of wood, followed by a last wild clangor from the bell,-and there, fifteen yards in front of us, and becoming more terribly black and distinct with every succeeding instant, advanced a large craft. Then we were galvanized into action Hall jumped for the anchor rope and heaved it up hand over hand. Ross put the oars in the locks and pulled away like a madman. I stood up in the stern, unmindful of the rocking boat, and yelled, Look out ahead! at the top of my voice. I whistled my hardest-then yelled again! The black Nemesis in front of us took shape-the stern of a tug-boat backing away from the buoy she had just collided with, was but ten yards away. We redoubled our efforts to make its relentless occupants hear and take notice. Five yards away the screws of the tug suddenly reversed and lashed the water into foam. Its momentum carried the now slowly moving craft another yard-then the narrow gap widened, first slowly, then more quickly,-and now-the hulk fades away into the mist and is blotted out. Well, there is not much more to tell. It would have been fool- hardy to continue fishing with the buoy broken, so, deliberately and silently we wound in our lines, dumped the killies overboard, and rowed back. We got through the surf again without much difficulty and walked home without saying a word. Of course, we were laughed at roundly for having attempted to go out in such weather, and our single measly fluke was the butt of the breakfast table humorists. But I did not tell them that I had almost caught the largest fluke that had ever existed. What! It would probably have been another edition of Mr. Hall's under-sized fishling? Ladies and Gentlemen, I insist that it was a whale! EDWARD J. SCHOENBROD, ,I5. 21