Allow me to ask you a couple of questions.
What do Captain Ahab of the whaling ship Pequod and Haans Galassi have in common?
Here’s the answer: They both had body parts swallowed by fish.
That’s a lie—kinda.
Actually, Ahab’s leg was yomped off by a humungous mammal—Moby Dick of big thick storybook infamy.
Hanns Galassi, on the other hand—on the other hand! I can’t resist it—had his severed finger swallow by a big ol’ trout in Priest Lake, Idaho.
Ahab was present in the flesh, so to speak, with his leg when Moby made his chomp.
Galassi, on the other hand [!], lost his finger in a wakeboarding—whatever that is—accident. The hungry trout glutched it down, thinking it was bait—I s’pose—sinking to the bottom, as far as I know.
“Harry, my ichthyologic love,” said Dearest Duck, “where do you come up with such foolishness? And who do you think cares?”
“It was in The News, my Duck,” said I. “Well, buddy’s finger story was in The News. The loss of Ahab’s leg is an older story.”
Dearest Duck, looking skeptical, returned to the kitchen where she was frying fish for supper.
Some coincidence, eh b’ys?
At the top, I said, a couple of questions. Here’s the second one: What’s the connection between the two stories already mentioned and Gerard McDonald’s adventure during the recent Dunderland Food Fishery?
Guess who was back from the kitchen.
“Don’t you criticize the Food Fishery. Without it, and the generosity of neighbours, you wouldn’t be having fresh fried fish—fresh fried fish!—for supper.”
“My Duck,” said I. “Tell me you’re not being critical of my ability to provide plentiful provender—fine fresh fare on which to feed.”
B’ys, I’m sorry. Strong spirits must have adulterated my herbal tea.
Before answering my second question I must speak of the best animated kiddy movie ever made—Finding Nemo. Featured in that movie is a ravenous shark named Bruce. Crazed as an addict to cocaine—or chocolate chip cookies, for that matter—Bruce wants to eat smaller fish for supper. Only intervention by his buddies, Anchor and Chum, prevents him from swallowing Nemo.
Okay, hold the thought—aggressive, starved shark.
Before the kitchen critic returns, I must get back on track. I must quit cutting bait and get to fishing—sorta.
Near Cottrell’s Cove during the recent “recreational cod fishery” Gerard MaDonald, a fellow fishing for fun, hooked a fish and commenced hauling it—hand-over-hand?—up from the briny, as fisher-folk are wont to do.
Imagine how excited McDonald must have felt. It was a dandy day out on the water. He was hauling up what felt like a jim-dandy codfish.
The sea, as we all know, is dark and deep and filled with mystery. P’raps even monsters lurk in the depths where sunlight cannot shine.
Have you ever been out on the bay in a rowboat—dory, punt, or dingy—p’raps pursuing saltwater joys [!] with your honey and trailing your hand overboard in a casual, romantic manner? Did it ever enter your noggin what your wiggly fingers, or your honey’s wiggle fingers, for that matter, might appear to be if observed by a denizen of The Deep?
That’s how Moby viewed Ahab’s leg.
That’s how a plump lake trout viewed Haans Galassi’s finger joint.
That’s how one of Brucie’s ferocious cousins viewed Gerard McDonald’s catch.
In The News, McDonald said, “When I pulled the fish out of the water, the shark came right out of the water and bit the fish in two.”
Luckily, for McDonald, none of his body parts joined half a cod in the shark’s gut.
Other people have experienced incidences of the same nature. Some have been reported in The News. For a fine example, visit the following website: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kSnYa60t41A, or visit YouTube and key-in “Girl Fishing, Shark Eats Fish!”, and prepare to be startled.
If you don’t have computer access, simply think, “Help, Sharks!”
“Harry, supper’s ready,” from the kitchen, from the one who makes my finny dreams come true.
“Coming, my Duck. I’m hungry enough to eat a shark.”
Thank you for reading.