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Lyrics Engine Driver

Song for the Hong

There is much to say about "pre-season cruising. First, no crabs. Secondly, no errors (in general). And if that is early enough in the season, there will be no fishermen, or the revving up their boats at dawn and motor outside the channel. 'll Oystering and caught between the start of crab season, when they are most likely to work on their boats or preparing their traps.

You probably going to see an osprey, however. We did it in this rainy April morning when Henry's brother, sister-in-law Pat and I headed Woodpecker Puerto Marina in Deale, Maryland, in its Gulf Star 44 INSSA, bound for Rio Hong. As the engines of the past daymarker at the mouth of Rockhold Creek, a pair of osprey nests bit us in no uncertain terms – roughly translated, his diatribe went something like this: "Do not approach or cut your face with my razor-sharp beak and feed the fish. "We paid them no mind.

INSSA cut herring in the Bay of like the rain that had been leaking steadily during the last three years truce days. The brother of Henry and the lovely Miss Pat were planning a summer trip to Canada. This little tour is cruising spring shakedown. Henry had been a little skeptical when I first proposed the idea. "The Mushroom?" He said, eyebrows arched. "Nobody goes the fungus. "

"Of course they do," he said. "A lot of people, actually."

The Hong River is located on the coast east, opposite the mouth of the Patuxent River and Solomon Island, and not too far north of the Potomac River. Protected by Hooper islands (Upper, Middle and Lower) in Western and long swampy lowlands in the east, the 12-mile-long river is home offers half a dozen sailors, with a couple of yards of work and crab packing houses to boot. For boats that can do at Back Creek, there are also Old Salty's, a restaurant has long occupied the old school Hooper Island. But here is the problem: While a deep channel cut to the middle of the river Hooper Strait as far Fishing Creek, the fungi in most places is quite superficial. Regardless of skinny water, we went anyway. I wanted to go on this trip, simply to lay eyes on the place where the Somers W. Claud down on 4 March 1977.

This is a story that can not shake. I wrote about it once to this magazine [see "Down Good Men", March 2005], and I've been wanting to write a song about it since. Some Bay capture in the paintings, some of them with a camera. Attempted capture of the Bay in music, putting the Bay's history, people and creatures in my lyrics. The story of W. Somers Claud is one of the many topics that I've focused, but for some reason, the muse until then had been difficult to achieve. I thought that maybe I go to the fungus to early spring and see for myself when the ship went down shake a little inspiration.

As we moved through the bay the wind dropped considerably and the foaming waves the ripples settled in pewter boring. The sun was hidden behind a layer of clouds, the air was cold. In the distance, the lowlands of the east coast on the horizon loomed. We passed the leaning tower of the Sharps Island Lighthouse – is so difficult to imagine that the land mass that once was there, with churches, houses, farms. It's like the Bay Atlantis. Then came long past the Barren Island.

We avoided the imbalances in the barren island, which leads from a swampy area north and what remains of the Barren Island south on the narrow bridge between the mainland and the Upper Hooper Island and in the corner in the north of the fungus and the community of Fishing Creek. We lack the local knowledge before we tried something. The boatmen to use this channel quite routine, but the table says that we would find only three feet of water in one leg in particular. With the wind blowing from the northeast, which would not go near him. Instead, he took the long way: the south around the bottom of the table of what he calls Lower Hooper Island and Applegarth Island locals call. He held a series of farms and families until the hurricane of 1933 washed with salt. We loop around the island to the north in the Hong Rippons and slipped Hoopersville Harbor, near the southern tip of Middle Hooper Island has been executed a long day and we were exhausted, happy to be in the refuge on the island and tied tight closure along Rippons's.

The final Rippons Chan had built the port here, the installation of a series slip comfortable (though not comfortable enough to handle our nearly 15-foot beam) and bulkheads attractive basin which includes a fuel dock (gas and diesel). Rippons Brothers Seafood, Chan's father and uncles founded in 1947, the Vapors and packages during the crab season, which begins with the warm weather in April and May will run until November. We were too early to enjoy a plate of fresh steamed crabs, but that was beside the river and not think about it. We happy to be out of the wind, but would be even happier, it decided, if we could find a place to eat on the boat. Somewhere warm. In some dry place. A peaceful place. . . .

It is a five-mile walk to Old Harbor Rippons salty, which is on the Upper Hooper Island in the village of Fish Creek. If he had ventured further up the river and taken INSSA in Back Creek, we could have a landing dinghies around, crossed the road and there, but given time, not We were so sure they could even make it safely in Back Creek and again, so we stayed in Rippons. We knew the old Salado was open (now was Sunday) and that was with only one main road that winds along the highlands of the islands. This type, we think, that someone would be enough to give us a walk, if we ask very well.

With this in mind, Old Salty's gave me a call. A cheerful voice got on the first ring. "May I call you back," the man said when I told him what we wanted. "I just need to check with my boss." Within minutes of our phone rang, and the fellow on the line, said yes, that could pick us up in five minutes, but had to be ready since I was the cook and could not last for long. It was early, but not too early to eat, so the chef-conductor said we would not keep you waiting. Indeed, in the space of time it takes to fall into a pair of street shoes, big ol 'a truck was idling on the tarmac next to our slip. Once established, the driver introduced himself as James. I was happy to pick us up, he said, Because he had no one to cook for the moment, and since the rainy climate, he feared that his kitchen was on a slow night.

At no time did we thrown at Old Salty's parking lot and then sitting in the classroom next to large open windows. Looking westward, we see the waters of the Bay of tar, Barren Island to the right. Whitecaps led the waves and the spray flew over the coastline riprapped. We are glad to be on land, in hopes of wines and martinis, and a complete reading tempting menu selection. The crab imperial, here is very nice, we were told, and we were determined to try.

Clearly queen seafood supreme here, and small wonder, with so many seamen pull in crabs and fish. You can get a steak if desired. Or chicken. Or a burger. But you can get fresh halibut, rockfish fresh (in season, that was when we visited), and crab, crab, crab. It was too early for crab Fresh soft, those who were fresh frozen on the menu. And while it sounded tasty crabcakes, we held our ground and ordered the crab imperial. Henry had one of daily specials: fresh flounder topped with crab imperial. Pat dish was the crab imperial, served with fresh asparagus and stewed tomatoes. My crab imperial was spread on top of a dish of scallops, with steamed cabbage and a baked sweet potato on the side. The vegetables are done to perfection. The crisp-tender asparagus. Kale was firm and tasty (and wrapped in butter!). The sole was moist and flaky, the scallops are tender and the crab imperial was lovely. It was almost as rich as many we've had, and the sauce was mild enough for the flavor of the crab shine through. We finished our portions – not overwhelming, but certainly wide – without feeling that we were destined for imminent heart attack. Crab imperial is not exactly healthy for the heart, but the recipe for Old Salt The heart is probably easier than most. No leftovers for us this time.

Meanwhile, the night was slow, a series of dinners in droves and began filling the tables. A nice looking lady sat alone at the table next to ours. "You're a local?" , I asked. She was from the island of Hooper, she said, but she had gone and returned again. "I wonder if you remember anything about the Claud W. Somers?" , I asked. She looked at me blankly and shook his head. Oh well, I thought. The dining room of the old salt is not the place for an impromptu interview, so respectfully I turned to my food.

James passed the word to us that we could give a lift back to the boat when we were ready, but Pat absolutely had to first check out the gift shop and bought a pair of hand-knitted slippers. James had been busy enough in the final cooking, but not as busy as usual, he said. On Sundays were generally jump. Lucky for us that things were slow and could not have gotten a ride! Then again, Hooper Island is the kind of place you take your thumb can stop what the traffic is going your way. An elevation of the road is just a good neighborly thing to do in these parts. Moreover, has a Rippons Brothers courtesy that you will loan to see the sailors, but had reached a rainy cold Sunday when no one was around to give us the keys.

There was actually taken in our surroundings, the night before, so the next morning we had a clear look around. It was still raining intermittently, and had been cold and raw. Discussion (of me) about launching a small boat to go exploring was put out quickly and decisively by the master, for the relief of his partner first. I called them hot dogs and went to explore on foot.

Hurricane Isabel was not kind to the islands Hooper. The house was flooded almost everybody in the central island and severed coastal groups. Among other things, he tore the flag in the detection-Chan Rippons father had built. I could see her flat cement cut into the pavement. "They built the pavilion for my grandfather's friends would come to eat crabs," said Chan's daughter Janet Ruark, who has been running the family business from his mother since his father died. We had settled in his tiny office in the small packing, and she told me people used to come home wanting to buy crab crab hot off the fumes. Then they crouch in the tables in the detection-in dining area. The seafood business has not yet produced the extra money needed to rebuild the pavilion, Ruark said, but the sailors are more than welcome to eat crabs aboard his boat or at tables in the street, placed there courtesy of the county Parks Department. Just be careful: The mosquitoes are relentless here at dusk summer, making the area of the park in dangerous territory of the sunset over.

In fact, the seafood business has been tough for quite some time here. Seamen will run their boats to Cape Charles to get the crabs of the season. Last year, it began throwing in late May. Ruark, but has hope for a better season this year. "My grandparents – both – said everything runs in cycles," he said. "They talked about how the hardheads (croakers) ran as strong in 1947, made enough money to start this business. Then the hardheads fell and not see them again until the 1990s. The veterans say the crabs are in the same way. "Oysters are a different story, however. They're just gone, he said, removed from the site and sent to stew pot and raw bars across the country." The [seamen] used to work away from Windmill Point Bar, Ruark recalled, nodding toward the lowlands on the other side of the river. "That was an incredibly productive oyster bar. That is why my grandfather and his brothers, took a windmill as his trademark for this business. But then came the State and pulled the bar away. Dredging the reservoir of age to one of winter and was somewhere in the Bay ", presumably as part of the first efforts to shore up the oyster bars elsewhere. "My grandfather said," my words will not be any oysters next year. "Tongers out next season and there was nothing. But no one compensates for the loss of their livelihoods. The state pays farmers not to sow the boatmen not achieved anything. "

Now everyone was waiting to see what the state considers any new crab regulations. The sailors are expected to further limitations on the capture of females. "We're just not sure whether to set a size limit or a bushel limit, or cut the season in October," said Ruark. "It will boatmen be hard anyway. "(Not long after our visit, Maryland, did two things: shortening the season for nearly two female crabs months and the limits imposed on women bushel in September and October, based on the limitations of each capture crabber historical average daily women for those months. The State also made absolutely illegal for Recreational Crabbers to capture the females, except for soft crabs. In Virginia, for Meanwhile, given the unprecedented step of completely ban winter dredging, another move aimed mainly at reducing the harvest of females.)

The crabs that works better in the fall, from September to November, after they have gained during the summer and went back to the mouth of the Bay of winter in the mud. It was then Crabbers do most of their money and expect to tide over the winter, Ruark continued. To Lop one of the most productive months their season would be a major difficulty. Having to sacrifice through the crabs to check women, adds a degree of control that will be difficult to meet at that time of year. Crabbers are quite busy managing their ships, transport and empty pots. Ruark as it were, of sacrifice to the crabs that is not enough is easy enough, but having to determine what is masculine and feminine is not as fast performed by a person also have to see where it goes. In summer Cangrejeros can bring their children or hire someone to do all that sorting. Aid is more difficult to find in the fall when children are back school and summer help has gone home. Many of the helpers on the boats of Hooper's Island are workers from Mexico, who come to pick crabs or working on ships a stay of six months. After the expiry of their permits and head back home.

A Spanish notions of drift in the steam room, where two men were already busy preparing the team for next season. Workers more results come in a few weeks to work on boats and water vapor and collect the crabs. The Most residents of the island these days are retired or are year-round work off the island, leaving Ruark and other local packing bound labor seasonal. "The temporary worker program has been a godsend, but even that is becoming more difficult for us. I fill out the paperwork for the winter and hope the immigration office has not reached his court, by the time that can occur, "Ruark said. These workers have returned from several years in a row, they know how to pick crabs and have received very well. "I want the same people back," he said.

I leaned against the wind to go Ruark's office and went back to the boat. Since time is unlikely to get much better, Henry's brother gave a commitment to implement the small boat so we could get so close and personal with the river as I expected. Instead, he offered to INSSA head upstream to view images and try to get into Back Creek. It was still very raw, but at least no rain. However, from our point of view on the open sea everything looked gray: water, land, heaven. Very little distinguishes the horizon, only the broad bar darker gray to indicate the high tide line and plump tree cover increases above it. It even seemed that surround us, we could not see the cuts between long slender points of the earth, so it seemed like we were in a lake-wide but little deep. Susquehanna Flats reminded me that way. We could keep the channel fairly easily, but there was water everywhere mighty fine something else. A single boatman tended their Wrote eel pots just off the island. He waved as we passed.

We went to the "15" marker, near the end of the channel, and a loop setback. In a smaller boat that have managed to draft the Golden Hill, where Goottee Navy maintains a narrow channel. Had we been able to round Wrote Island, who have made the way to the city of Crapo. Instead collected in Back Creek, a sheltered port, but without much room for us. Phillips Seafood operates a crab-packing plant in a big red building at the mouth of the creek, and strong line of the old houses along the coast. On the north, PL Jones Shipyard is under way and the right. Old Salty's beyond that, across the main road on the left. The crew was at work dredging of Jones' slips; beyond that there was little activity today. We carefully turned around and headed toward the river. "

Having come to the bay in a blow wet, I had a new perspective in what should have been like for the men aboard the Somers W. Claud before leaving in a gale. The bay was frozen in the winter of 1976-1977, and the crew had been able to work for months. When the ice was finally broken, the dredging fleet of Deal Island was happy to go to work again. But Captain Thompson Wallace aboard the Somers was one of only two skipjacks that headed on the morning of March 4, in the teeth of what could become a hurricane tilt later in the day. The captain made a list of other little lame and went home. Capt. Wallace hung. When he finally turned to the port, its engine thrust Boat stopped, leaving him rolling on the high seas and battered by winds that were too strong for their candles. A passing boatman tried to tow behind his Chip Somers dead, but after an hour or so, the wind and the waves were so powerful the staples pulled the tug boat and the Good Samaritan had to stop drifting Somers. He offered to bring everyone on board his ship, but Captain Wallace was sure he could get the list again sailing. That's the last time anyone saw him and his crew alive. Cold and the wind howling around your ears, which had to be hard and scary.

The fungus is open to the south. The closest anyone can tell, the Somers entered the river before flooding Hooper Strait outside Norman Cove. All hands were lost, Captain Wallace, his older brother, his eldest son, a cousin, a nephew and a family friend. When the ship was lost, the men of the headwaters of the Honga all south of Deal Island was looking for her, the hope, at least, to rescue the men, if not the list. Not long after midnight, one of the would-be rescuers saw the top of the mast overhanging the water. The ship had gone down in 12 feet of water, there was no sign of Captain Wallace and his crew. Men fished from the bottom the next day lifted the boat and went on with their lives. The ship continued dredging a few years, then lay idle and deteriorate to the Reedville Fishermen's Museum found, restored and put to sea again out of its facilities in Cockrell Creek near the Great Wicomico River on the western shore of Virginia.

As they went past the spot where it sank, there was no wind to speak of – but shivered despite myself as Norman Cove INSSA left to port and Applegarth last edges in the West Island. Walking home, we were waiting to cross the bay before the wind back thread. Before us, Hooper Strait seemed pretty calm though sad and cold. He had had a bit of sun on this trip. I pictured a single list that fight and dominated by wind, water flooded his leakage from the seams and the torrent of waves splashing over the sides. It would have been dark when the Somers came down, and even darker at the time of the storm had calmed down enough to search boats to venture out. A few days later when the ship stopped in the mud, she had 33 kilos of oysters still in their sheaths.

I took the pen and began writing: Down on the water flows Honga range with fine soil spreads like a carpet, and work on water is all you can do, and pray to run another day. . . . It took a month to complete, but I had my song.

About the Author

By Jane Meneely, writer for Chesapeake Bay Magazine. For more great articles and photos on boating, sailing, fishing, and cruising, visit http://www.ChesapeakeBoating.net

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