The Trammel Net

[otter]

The Trammel Net

All Otters trips to the bay were events to be savored but that was all to change, at least temporarily.
His brother had arrived from Donegal and an excited father helped lift the fish box out of the boot of the car. In the fish box an item that would soon become Otters worst nightmare, a trammel net.

Otter stood on the periphery as the net was laid out and stretched on the grass with much discussion between father and elder son. Two large orange buoys were also unloaded and laid alongside the net. Otter had no idea what was the purpose of the net but knew that somehow it would herald a new adventure.
For the next week or so, every evening after work his father disappeared into the shed, busy hammering, banging and oblivious to his young son that hovered around outside, eager to be included. Soon Otter tired of being ignored and returned to the normal activities of playing football, chasing the cat or playing marbles on the footpath outside his house. The older boys always won at the marbles and any stash Otter had never lasted more than a day or two.
"Off to bed Son, we are going to Kilcummin to-morrow"; announced Otters father. Even though Captain Kirk was at the bridge and Scottie at the engines and two Klingon vessels giving chase, Otter switched off the black and white TV and raced up the stairs.

Otter was always a little wary when they neared Kilcummin head. The dark cliffs, waves crashing into the many cave like features at the base, white foam lifting high into the air after every impact. Fear is a good thing, for it makes one have a lot of respect for the power of the sea and keeps you on guard.
Two boxes lay at the bottom of the boat, one contained the net, the other various rocks onto which were tied short lengths of angle iron that had been bent into curved hooks and the two red buoys. Otter watched as his father tied one buoy to the end of the net and threw it over board, then set to rolling out the net, looping on a rock every three to four yards until finally the last buoy was tossed overboard. The net was about thirty yards long and they sat for a few minutes watching the buoys bobbing up and down.

They fished for a couple hours but Otter's heart was not in it for he constantly diverted his gaze to the bobbing buoys, wondering what fish might be trapped in its mesh. When they returned to the net Otter chattered none stop such was his excitement. His father reached for the buoy with his gaff and hooked the rope and began the slow ritual of lifting the net. When each rock was brought on board it was Otters task to untangle it from the net and put it back in the box. Easy work for an adult but painful for a youngster with soft hands but he did not complain and soon forgot about the pain when he seen the flash of some fish a few yards subsurface. 

"Dog fish"; announced his father when the first fish was brought on board, be careful handling them, toss them back over". So it would be Otters task to take the fish from the net and he relished this new challenge. The dog fish have backs like the coarsest of sand paper and with each one handled, Otter grew to hate this cursed fish. Some twenty dog fish were in the net, a handful of Pollock and one whiting.

Otters sea apprenticeship was over, now a full deckhand he had to share in the work as well as in the fun. From that day forward, Otter groaned anytime the box with the net was placed on the bottom of the boat before a trip to sea. Apart from one beautiful Turbot which must be one of the finest fish to eat, the Trammel net was not a great success and soon his father tired of the work involved and the net found its rightful place, the back corner of the shed.

To this day, Otter's squirms at the very mention of Dogfish.


Tender hands, hauling net,
writhing dogfish, in net entwined.
Writhing dogfish, twisted rocks and rusty angle iron,
in net entwined.

Tossed over side, to depths return,
another rises with the net,
another bloody dogfish, in net entwined.