The Washington times., 1935-08-03
NOW.
DidbOLicaL joys
OF Sea Fishing
CURE FOR EVIL
BY HELEN ESSARY
The title of this piece may

By HELEN ESSARY
The title of this piece may
be any of three:
"It All Comes Under the
Head of Pleasure"
(which Would You Rather
Do or Go Fishing"
Or, Lady, You're Not Sea-
sick. It's Just Your 1magina-
ton"
AS we climbed over the side
Of the boat, the captain was
talking to Bill, his assistant,
about bait:
Don't cut that squid too
thick. Keep your lines straight,
and don't get caught in the
fish hooks"
Bill pushed a dingy hat
farther back on his head and
continued to hack With a long
rusty knife at a hunk OF re-
voting, faded matter.
Soon we were in all aboard
-12 jolly fishermen and women,
in Stacks, sweat shirts and
tasseled beretS. Likewise Ben,
the black boy who had brought
on the boxes of liquid and solid
diet.
The engine started with a
choke, a sputter and gallop.
Away we went out of Lewes.
Headed straight for the Della
ware Bay and the deep sea
beyond.
In the canal the water was
calm as a looking-glass. The
rushes on the marshy shore
rippled family.
Out in the Open Bay
Soon we crossed the bar, were
out in the open bay, bounding
along on violent white-capped
waves.
The Bill Leahys, the John
Lewis Smiths, the Layton Col
burns, Jesse Finley, Judge Dick
inson Let's and the Francis
Thomases were talking happily
about the joys of fishing, the
mistakes of the New Deal, taxa
ton and sunburn. Tommy
Adams and Harold De Veau
were discussing a blonde in a
white bathing suit. Even I, the
poorest sailor in the temperate
zone, felt happy. And not at
all apprehensive.
If I thought that the next
worlds punishment for sins in
c1uded being anchored in a
bobbing, wiggling, shivering
small boat, twisted, spanked and
battered by evil waves, I'd be a
better Woman-imnE9diately.
The instant the anchor struck
bottom and our boat was turned
loose-so to speak-in that
vicious water. I began to
feel definitely-odd. The jolly
fishermen and women had
thrown their lines over the side.
The boat was doing only its
tenth Hula Hula when Mrs.
Smith looked intently at me and
said:
Don't you think you had bet
ter lie down in the bunk?"
Into something a little worse
than the Black Hole of Calcutta
I crawled. Pushed sweaters,
hats, fishing poles, pocketbooks'
sun goggles on the floor.
Somebody was brought in-1
think it was Tommy Adams
and put on the opposite berth:
At times various people would
place sympathetic but heavy,
fishy hands on my head and ask
If there was anything they could
do.
The flies buzzed around and
bit. 1 could hear, as though
coming from another world, a
hateful world, the laughter OF
hearty, vulgar creatures, pulling
in fish as fast as they could get
the lines up and down. Croakers,
trout, hardheads and founders
Topped about in pals and tubs.
A voice said:
"We'n go out farther and
anchor again." The engine
started.
There was talk of bottles be-
ing opened, Of roquefort cheese
and salami. A voice in my ear
said: ,
Don't you think you'd feel
better If you drank a bottle Of
beer or a little ScOtch?"
I didn't answer. didn't dare
open my lips. Tom was moan
ing. A diabolical creature on the
deck shouted:
"There's a school of pOrpOise!
Let's have a shot at them"
Dear Heaven, thought, now
they are going to shoot por.
poises. Why not shoot me?
The captain got rifle from
over my head. Pop! Pop! Feeble
shots! Missed by 500 yards,
said somebody.
We anchored again. We
drifted. We caught more fish.
Years went by. Bill hollered:
"We'll be going back soon,
now. When the tide covers the
sand bar. In about two more
hours"
Dear heaven, two more hours
Twenty hours passed. It's half
past two, Claribel Smith said,
We can make it now. Years
licked by. We were back in the
y still canal.
I tottered to my feet. Climbed