night swimming
So we lose power yesterday and schedule a morning appointment to have it fixed. This means we are looking at no AC for the bedroom, which is a serious bummer since it’s been hot and humid all week. With the prospect of an uncomfortable and loud (traffic from the road with all the windows open) bedtime, our survival instincts kick in. It’s every man for himself to get through the night with a minimum of misery. Reen opts for the pharmaceutical approach, taking a Sudafed at 8pm and quickly conks out on the deck reading. Clever girl. I choose to head out fishing, with plans to make it a late night so I can collapse into my humid and deafening bedroom when I get home. So it’s rod onto roof, wading shoes on and off we go.

I drive by the lighthouse, wanting to fish the rocks there but there are people already fishing here and I’m not into crowds. Onward into Woods Hole, but it’s teeming with folks there for dinner etc, so there’s nowhere to park near where I’d like to fish. It’s looking like the old standby of Quissett. The quick trip up the road provides a few beautiful sunset views over the bay. Really spectacular, nuclear glowing sky type stuff.

Once on the scene, my plans to wade around the edge of the harbor out towards the open water are foiled by the extra high tide which has covered the entire beach face. The water is up into the bushes, which I’ve never seen before. So fishing off the dock it is. As I’m fishing, the folks who were out at the Knob watching the sunset slowly filter back to their cars and leave. It’s a lovely calm night, warm summer air, quiet and getting a bit dark as the full moon hasn’t risen yet. About an hour into my session, I realize that I didn’t hear my lure splash as it hit the water and then notice that my line is tight. It is stuck fast and this not good. With the little ambient light, I can see that as I tug on the lure, the mooring line from one of the many Herreshoff 12 ½’s is moving too. My lure is stuck there and will remain so until purposefully removed.

At this point I stand there on the dock for probably 5 minutes, slowly noodling over what I should do. I could cut the line and head home, but that would mean losing a $10 lure plus leaving about 40’ of line out in the water, so that’s out. There are a number of dinghies tied up at the dock that folks use to get out to their boats, but none seem to have oars in them and I’m really not keen on seeing if this is the one instant where some guy heads to the harbor for some reason and sees me paddling around in his boat. So as I’m untying my wading shoes I’m thinking of what options I have left. I dip a foot in the water (which is a mere 2-3” below the top of the dock) and it feels like a bath. As I take off my shirt and glasses, I wonder to myself how many people are left out on the Knob and just when the security guard for the yacht club gets on duty. Staring now at my shorts folded neatly next to my shirt and shoes, somehow I remain unsure of how exactly I’m going to solve this problem. But when you’re standing on a dock at night in just your boxers, there’s really only one question left. Do I dive in or use the ladder off the side? I choose the latter approach and let me tell you that the water is fine. Swimming on a summer night is always a thrill.

As I dust off my backstroke, I can clearly see the fishing line just above my nose, frozen in place like the light from a tiny beacon pointing me in the right direction. Upon my arrival at the boat I am able to use the mooring ball as a float and use both hands to extract my lure from the line. Another 4 minute swim, being careful not to tangle my legs in the now slack fishing line, and I’m back on the dock. A guy walking his dog about 30 yards away sees me get out of the water and stops to make sure I’m not up to any funny business. I don’t think it’s apparent from his vantage point that I’m in my underwear and he slowly moves along. After air drying for a few minutes I see the security guard pull in for the evening and so I put on my t-shirt and shorts. I’m pretty wet still, but kept my head dry and am warm nonetheless. The full moon is rising now, a deep orange Hyde of a moon, peering through the trees on the far side of the harbor. It’s so bright that it’s lighting up the bottoms of the few clouds overhead. I keep fishing for another 30 minutes or so, until the moon has finished its slow diminishment back into harmless Henry Jekyll. I’m dry enough that I don’t get the seat wet on the drive home. Reen’s fast asleep in bed and I slip in along side her. Just as I had planned, I’m exhausted and am asleep moments later.