4:15 AM: It was a salty pup and sea clams from south of Nantucket…...

HN NOTES: It was a salty little sea beagle pup who never took his eyes off me for a second as I chatted with the trucker out of New Bedford, here in Hytown to haul back sea clams just in from somewhere south of Nantucket.

The time was 4:15 a.m..

It was a good haul, but you know how fishing is nowadays, “hit or miss,” the trucker explained as he lit a smoke, the Allman Brothers playing over the boat’s P.A. system.

I felt we should have fired up a grill, had some beers. Nobody seemed in a bad mood. (I’ve been at the Ocean Street docks when moods haven’t been as pleasant, usually after a bad trip…)

“Yeah, they did alright,” he said. “And I’ll take this weather all day long.” I think it was almost 50 degrees out. It was nice.

“How’s the fishing been this winter in general?” I asked.

“Not bad, not great… you know, hit or miss,” he shrugged, taking a toke.

“I bet it hasn’t been anywhere near as good as it was in the old days,” I stated nostalgically, with a frown, shaking my head somewhat mournfully.

“Nah, not even close,” he frowned back. We both then pined a spell about “the old days,” both of us nodding in unison, sadly agreeing those were the best days for fishing and just about everything else.

The salty pup continued staring, worried, perplexed, clueless as to what suddenly could have put a damper on things.

There was nothing else that could be said about the matter. The old days were the best and the old days were gone, probably never ever coming back either…

Then someone turned up the music, “Lord, I was born a ramblin’ man. Tryin’ to make a livin’ and doin’ the best I can. And when it’s time for leavin’. I hope you’ll understand. That I was born a ramblin’ man…”

The music helped. The clams were offloaded onto the truck. Nobody seemed in a bad mood. And the salty little sea pup looked less worried, even posed for a photograph or two…

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