Poem and Past

Machiasport

On a pier overlooking the water, the sun coming up, fishing boats waiting.
The bay is calm, on an outgoing tide.

Soon there will be the hum of a diesel engine, and the shoreline drifting past.
Going to work. East into the sun.
Spruce trees, white houses, and distant isles mark the trip seaward.
Watching gulls peering over the side of a boat, and fishermen in their skiffs starting their day.


Leaving Machiasport behind, and saying good morning to Bucks Harbor and Starboard Island and the ocean.

On a boat from Machiasport one November morning,heading out  to one of the ocean pens to harvest some salmon for eggs and milt.  Up before sunrise, stopping at Dunkin Donuts for breakfast, then getting to the boat. Xtratuffs on, raingear, watching the tide. Lots of images are flashing through my mind.


I worked at a salmon hatchery for a aquaculture company, as a hatchery technician, which truth be told I cleaned fish tanks, feed fish, weighed them and watched them. I can say I've caught more Atlantic Salmon than most flyfisherman could ever imagine.  


In some ways it was a perfect job,working with fish, watching them for hours. But it also had some bad stuff too. Being wet and cold for most of the time was the biggest.  But getting out and going over to Embden and Bingham, Machias. Seeing things most people never see, doing things most people couldn't imagine.