O'Shaughnessy

Pete was out of work by 3:00.
He called Bill on his way out of the city and was back home at 3:25.
It was a quick walk back to the shed where he grabbed the big 5 gallon bucket and his collapsable surf-cast setup. Careful not to set the hook in the upholstery, he loaded the gear into the car and pulled out of the driveway. It was only a ten minute ride to the Yacht Club where Bill was to meet him.
Pete called up his folks from the road and arranged to meet his old man for a drink at the Club bar before Bill arrived. The bar was busy in the early afternoon so he parked in the public lot, right above the big three foot corrugated drainage pipe. In the old days, he had always wanted to explore the drainage system but had been discouraged by the rats he saw sometimes at night. Pete adjusted his tie in the rearview mirror and walked over to the club. His old man was already waiting on the wooden deck, leaning on the rail that stood between the platform and the water. Both father and son went in to the bar together. All the tall mahogany seats were occupied by familiar characters. Burl, a brown toothed regular had his usual seat by the door. Here Burl was in the unique position to greet any newcomers with his awkward and vulgar brand of humor until they managed to steal away to another side of the bar.
Pete had known Burl since he was a boy and had grown to dislike him more as the years went by. The old man had an admirable patience with Burl but Pete just felt like knocking the goddamned baked-bean teeth out of his head every time he went to the bar.
Pete ordered a draught Sierra Nevada for himself and a cabernet for the old man. They managed to escape from Burl, excusing themselves due to the heat - and went back out to the deck. They set themselves and their drinks down at the sturdy umbrella table the club had just bought the year before. The Magic and Lakers had the finals tied up and they mostly talked about that and fishing.
Pete drank his beer fast. It was cold and good and he just finished it when he saw Bill's car pull in to the lot.
Pete walked back in to the bar and placed a five dollar bill on the bar, put his empty pint-glass on top and walked toward the door. Frank Farr, a white haired regular of few words clapped him on the shoulder as he walked by and they shook hands.
Once out the door, Pete said goodbye to his old man and walked toward the car. Bill was standing on the passenger side with his rod and tackle box in hand. Unlocking the car as he walked, Pete grinned and Bill opened the door and placed the gear on the back seat.
"we have to stop at one arm Johns for some squid"
"for sure, he might know where they're running anyhow. "
They got in the car and took off silently with the battery of the Toyota Prius doing most of the work.
Pete took off his coat as he drove and asked
"Hows the wife?"
"I don't know... crazy"
"same as usual?"
"I guess"
Pete was used to this situation and he remembered the winter before last. All of the emotion and dramatic violence seemed insane and he could hardly understand it. Still, he couldn't help but be intrigued by people like this. Complete disregard for consequence was not in his nature at all. He thought he was probably drawn to these people because they were in fact so different from himself and he felt like he could learn something from them once he understood.
Bill asked if they could stop at the convenience store on Main Street for cigarettes and they both went inside.

The proprietor of the corner store was from India and he had a beautiful young wife who worked with him sometimes during his 17-18 hour shifts. Pete liked the man and they would always talk in very low, serious tones about politics and the economy. This day, the owner had a line at the counter so Pete nodded as he walked to the back of the store and looked through the glass doors that displayed the beverage selection. He opened one of the doors, feeling the vacuum of the refrigerator and grabbed a ginger ale. by the time he reached the front counter, most of the customers had filed out, leaving only Bill and him. Bill was a dollar short on the cigarettes so Pete paid for everything and took the money Bill had.

They walked out of the store and into the humidity. Pete's ginger ale already had beads of condensation running down the sides - he cracked it and unlocked the car. Bill had a cigarette lit before he got in and he offered Pete the open pack. Pete drew one out and lit it with the stainless windproof given to him by a Korean exchange student. They pulled out of the lot and on to main street behind a rusted F-350 Dump. Pete smelled the diesel from the exhaust and remembered Bermuda. He thought of Elsa and the yellow Peugeot and the big busses that would pollute the tight coral-walled alleyways with their black fumes. He remembered how she felt pressed up against his back on the bike and how the white painted walls were stained black from the busses.
Pete blew smoke out his nose and looked around the old New England town. He was glad to be here now with an old friend, going fishing again.

The parking area that provided access to the rocks was unmarked and was difficult to find if you had never been there. It was on the left side of the street and very unassuming between the rows of driveways that led to waterfront mansions. Families from New York City would spend their vacations there, leaving the homes dark and imposing for the rest of the year. The parking spaces were at the end of a short nicely paved road and as you drove down, you could see the Atlantic spread out far and wide with that deep blue color spotted by whitecaps. There was only one other car in the lot when they arrived. It was a black Geo and there was a really awful looking woman sleeping in the front seat with that hairstyle that looks wet all the time and clothes so tight for her figure that it looked as though her flesh was held together by the various seams and bands of her garments. They jointed up the rods - Pete had only brought his cheap ugly stick imitation and a some old rusted out tackle that he’d had luck with on these rocks last year. Bill had brought his more substantial surf casting rig along and his flea market tackle box that seemed bottomless and full of gear neither of them had ever seen before. They walked down the steep graveled path that wound between the big leaved beach grape trees - Pete swinging his five gallon bucket with all the gear and a six pack of heineken hidden under a layer of ice. Once clear of the trees they could see the jagged granite rocks spread out in front and on either side, the southwest seas crashing white along the whole coast, making the air thick with spray.

Pete could tell the wind had picked up once they were out on the rocks and the waves were high with very short periods between them. The clouds were low and thick and fast moving and they could see the streaks that were rain showers scattered across the Atlantic. He imagined the waves out at bonnet break being intimidating, probably overhead at least. The salty mist made everything damp and the smooth granite surfaces slick, especially in places where algae had been allowed to grow. You could always avoid the algae if you looked closely for the darker, discolored patches, but sometimes it was unavoidable and you had to make sure to keep all your weight directly over your feet to stop from slipping. Sometimes it happened anyway. Pete didn’t know if Bill had heard the story about the guy who died mysteriously off the rocks last season in these kind of conditions but he decided that now might not be the time to bring it up. There was a broad shelf, orange from the iron deposits that led down toward the water and toward the biggest, most imposing rock that stood somewhere around 30 feet in all dimentions. Where the shelf met the water, there was a small gap cut by the tides that one could jump over easily without gear. With gear, it was better to try and break it up by stepping on the black, pointed rock in the middle.

Bill went first and made it over with much show and concern. “I’m going to break my arm “ he said as he approached the gap. “shut up man, you must have done this before, you’re just putting your mouth all over it” replied Pete, impatiently. He was always a bit nervous about crossing, especially in those types of conditions but he’d rather not have Bill make it worse than it had to be. Bill went finally and Pete followed, shaking his head and trying not to look down. Once across, it was a steep climb up the big rock, made easier by the deep cuts that horizontally traversed the stone. At the top, the granite was lighter - bleached all beige by the sun. The rock cut down towards the water from the highest point, probably shaped by years of breaking waves. More often than not you would find somebody else fishing off of it but the conditions around the gap probably deterred the other fishermen - the only ones they could see now were off to the left, casting off the big smooth slab that sloped easily into the surf. They both had their rigs set up with two hooks about a yard apart and Pete fished the box of frozen squid out of the bucket. They separated two of the smallest ones from the thawing block of bait and Pete separated the body from the hood by pulling them apart. He strung the hood through the wire leader and over the glow in the dark float that one armed John had given him on his last trip to the bait shop. Pete knew he needed the float here to avoid all the kelp. He hoped the glowing squid looked as convincing as he hoped for those damned stripers.

Pete was still setting up when he saw Bill cast far and high in the direction of Block Island. The tide would take her in the opposite direction he thought as he secured the body of his squid by running the hook through both eyes. With the rig all prepared, Pete reached in to the bottom of the bucket and pulled out two Heineken beers. One of which he handed to Bill who accepted without looking away from the end of the rod. Pete put the other can in his pocket and, supporting himself with his free arm, hopped down on to a shelf facing the waters in lee of the big rock. The noise of the wind was cut to nothing upon landing in the protected alcove. He cast out, careful not to overshoot and risk getting caught in the granite that hid just under the surface about twenty yards out. The wind pulled the line toward the shore as it went out Pete reeled in to compensate. He had fished there enough to know the difference between dragging on the kelp and bites and he could tell immediately that he had a customer. He saw the end of the rod jump with that crazy unpredictable motion and jerked the rod to set the hook and then came the high pitched scream of the reel before he screwed the drag down. He felt the nerves in his fingers and his mind was sharp against the cold and he called up to Bill “hey I think I got something pal.” Bill looked down and knew it was bad when he saw the line striking out left toward the point of the rock and Pete stuck in the recess trying to keep the fish away from the point. This bastard is big Pete thought. Bigger than I thought. If I let her get around the point and in to the rocks and the surf who knows what the hell will happen. I’ve only got 15 pound test on this rod and she feels a helluva lot bigger than that.

He let up on the drag and heard again the scream of the reel as the fish took out the line offered. He handed the rod up to Bill who smiled and said “woah Pete you really got something here. Something big I mean look at the way the rod jerks.” “It’s not a flounder buddy” Pete grunted lifting himself by his arms up and over the shelf feeling all hollow and sick inside from thinking about losing the fish in the rocks. He knew that with the line he gave, the fish would have gone out around the point by now but now he just had to bring her in fast before she could find a place to hide and get the line all snagged. He took the rod back from Bill and started to reel in. She seemed bigger than before and fought hard once she felt the hook set deeper, making pete walk with her sideways along the slope of rock. Bill kept his hand on the back of Pete’s vest to keep him from sliding in. He was so close to the water now that they were both getting soaked from the spray and Bill could tell that one more big push could pull Pete down and in. Pete knew he had to dig in to her now or risk getting the bastard caught up in the mess below so he set his feet perpendicular to the water and dug in hard pulling up on the rod and taking in line fast. She fought like hell and he could tell he had her now as long as she didn’t get caught in any rocks so he screwed down the drag, giving her nothing and making sure she couldn’t dive. Taking in every inch of slack and pulling hard up and taking her in more and more and then all of the sudden there was nothing.