Call Me Ishmael

The American author, Herman Mellville, penned these memorable words to begin one of the great literary classics of all time, Moby Dick. Or so I hear. You see, I’ve never actually read it. It fills one of the major voids in my knowledge base in reading the all-time classic works. Well, that plus about 95% of the other classics that have somehow evaded me as I have busied myself reading other great works, such as Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing and Magic Treehouse: Dinosaurs Before Dawn. Unrecognized classics, they are.

As the story goes, the narrator, Ishmael, is a wandering sailor who finds himself on a whaleship commanded by the eccentric and obsessive Captain Ahab. On a previous fishing adventure, Ahab encountered the great white whale, Moby Dick, and subsequently lost his leg, confined to walk the rest of his life on a prosthetic limb carved out of whale bone. He had devoted his life to exacting revenge on his nemesis, wanting nothing more than to find and kill his rival, the whale. 

This past summer, our family took a week-long camping trip to the Northern California coast near Crescent City. We stayed at a camp called Mill Creek Campground. It is set about 2 miles inland from the ocean, so its about 20 degrees warmer than the colder, damper campgrounds nearer to the water. There is also very little fog. It is one of the best kept secrets of the far-Northern California coastline.

We went with some of our close friends and had an amazing time. Our week was filled with hiking, biking, lounging, reading, eating, playing, and marshmallow roasting.

There was one other thing that we did during our trip - crabbing. No one in either family had done any crabbing before, but we didn’t let our lack of experience get in our way of trying something new.

So we went to a local fishing bait shop that was located on the public pier to rent some crab pots. We also bought some fish heads to use as bait for our pots. After a brief tutorial by the local crabbing experts, we set off for the end of the pier to go catch our dinner.

The process is pretty simple - you set up the crab pot, you put bait inside an enclosed plastic container, you throw the whole thing over the edge of the pier and then you wait. As this was our first time trying it, we weren’t sure where exactly to throw the contraptions or how long to leave them underwater. The first few times that we threw them in we likely pulled them out too quickly, as there was nothing inside but maybe an old shopping bag when we pulled it up.

Our friend, Dan, made the first catch of the day, hauling in a beautiful crab that was close to 6 inches in diameter. My kids and I then got into the act, pulling in a couple of nice, if slightly, smaller crabs.

Tyler, his buddy and I then moved to the other side of the pier to try our luck. And here is where the earlier Moby Dick reference will hopefully make a little sense.

As we dropped our crab pot into this new spot, several minutes passed before we tried to pull it in. As we did, I noticed that it felt quite a bit heavier than the last several attempts. As the pot broke the surface of the water, we peered over the edge to see what we were hauling in. As we did, we caught a glimpse of something else clinging onto the edge of the trap. It was difficult to tell exactly what it was, but the best guess of an aging 36 year old man with ailing eyesight was that we had just caught a giant octopus! Or maybe it was a squid. I couldn't really tell, as it fell off the edge of the pot when it was just a few feet above the water.

The two boys and I were going crazy. While we may have have only had about 2 seconds to inspect it from over 20 feet away, we still couldn’t believe what we had just seen.

“You should have seen it - IT WAS HUGE!!! It was 8 feet long if it was an inch!!!”

Everyone ran over to our crabbing spot to try and catch a glimpse of what we had seen. But, of course, by now it was much too late. The giant octopus (or squid) was now likely slowly floating back down to the ocean floor, covered by 20 feet of murky seawater.

As the excitement settled, we returned to our respective crabbing locations, wanting to try the same spot again after our brush with the sea monster. Moments later, as I began to haul the crab pot up once again, the weight of the load seemed eerily similar to the last attempt. As it broke the water surface into our view, what should we see, but the giant sea animal was once again attached to our crab pot.

I hurriedly pulled it up the remaining 20 feet to the edge of the pier. But this time something was different. Instead of the 8 foot long monster that we had caught the previous drop, now the creature attached was much, much smaller. Did I mention that it was much smaller this time?

As we pulled it onto the pier for a closer look, the octopus was a mere 18 inches from one tentacle tip to the other. And this estimate may even be fairly liberal, depending on who you ask. And it wasn’t even a vicious octopus. Or a man-eating giant squid. It looked more like a squishy 10-legged starfish.

The kids were gaga upon seeing this creature, despite its less than impressive size. We took several moments to look at it and take pictures before returning it to its watery home.

Fast forward 6 months later to the present day, and all I have to prove the existence of the 8 foot long sea monster on that cold, windy day in Cresent City is the image burned into my mind and the creative, corroborating imaginations of two 9 year old boy witnesses. The second boneless creature that we had captured couldn’t possibly have been the same one that we had caught just moments earlier. No, our sea monster was likely miles out to sea, leaving only his undersized and underwhelming step-cousin, the squishy, slimy starfish, as a prize to some unsuspecting vacationing crab fishermen. No, he’s probably still laughing at us to this day as he thinks about the old bait-and-switch (pun intended) that he pulled on us in that faraway port.

The legend of the elusive Moby Dick of cephalopods  will continue to live on in the lore of Goss and Bickmore family vacations. So until our next crabbing adventure when I am able to once again capture my nemesis, please don’t call me a liar or a big-fish storyteller. Call me Ishmael. Or, more accurately, call me Captain Ahab.