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| Stalking the Crab, Chesapeake Bay |
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| The Catch |
I
stalked silently through the shallow inlet in search of my prey, every shadow
on the sea floor a potential victim.
Each of my steps were carefully placed so as not to disturb the sand and allow
my quarry a chance to take flight.
Coming across a rather large patch of brine, I leaned in to examine it
for signs of the blue crab I sought to capture.
About to move on, the dark patch of growth shifted with the current and
betrayed a flicker of movement underneath.
My prize, seeming to sense my scrutiny, scuttled to reposition himself
underneath his clever camouflage. The
thrill of the hunt pounded through my veins as I prepared to pounce and claim
my elusive prize. Patiently, I waited
for his next move, lulling him into a false sense of security which would be
his ultimate undoing. He moved slightly
into the open, peering out to see if the coast was clear. Adrenaline surged through my veins and I
shifted my feet, betraying my position.
A flurry of sand marked his rapid retreat into the deeper water ahead of
me as I gave chase. But the water clouded to the point that pursuit would be
futile. “Well played, sir.” I concede to
my victorious opponent, “Well played, indeed.”
My
failure forced me to re-examine my methods, and I scrabbled back to my gear on
the warm morning sand. In order to find
the blue crab I must meet him on his own terms; I must hunt him down in his
back yard. Quickly I donned my mask and
snorkel and returned to the water. Upon
reaching his last known location I gently lowered my body into the cool bay
waters and pushed myself forward, deeper into the abyss. Mild strokes of my arms allowed me to glide
along, a leviathan among the lesser species of the aquatic underworld. The sea floor appeared crystal clear through
my goggles, shells and seaweed standing out in stark contrast to the smooth
velvet sand. The fortunate crabs chances
of survival were diminishing, his rapid side-scuttling locomotion and hard
protective shell no match for my highly evolved cognitive functions and
opposable thumbs. Today I was going to
earn my place at the top of the food chain.
After
several minutes my increased perception allowed me to observe my quarry once
again. Half buried in sand and deceptively
still, he sat frozen a few yards away.
‘Clever,’ I thought, ‘he has adapted his methods as well.’ Although he was no match for me, a grudging
respect began to emerge within me. But
there is no room for admiration on the hunt, no moment to be lost for
sympathy. He was mine and the time was
now. Coasting almost directly above him
he still refused to betray his position, believing his ruse had succeeded. Gently I allowed my hands to sink to within
striking distance, drawing up to the final strike. But as if to mimic my intentions, the crab
slowly raised his to tiny claws towards me.
With amazing speed he attacked, snapping his claws around my exposed
fingers. I jerked my hands away and rolled to my left, attempting to parry his blows.
This caused my snorkel to become submerged and I take on a lungful of
the salty water we battled in. I pulled
myself upright and exclaimed with surprise, but it wasn’t over yet. My adversary boldly seized the initiative and
struck at my feet, sending me stumbling back in a panicked retreat. This retreat quickly turned into a rout as I
scrambled to gain the safety of the shore.
Once there within the relative safety of dry land, I glared at the
glossy surface of the sea and vowed to return. I would have my vengeance yet.
As
I paced back and forth along the beach I struggled to comprehend the crab’s
success during our bouts. This was no
mere crustacean fluttering aimlessly about the bay; it was in fact a finely
tuned aquatic survivor. Regardless of my
direction of approach he seemed to be aware of my presence before I was of
his. And his speed, my god his
speed! I could nearly step on him and in
the blink of an eye he was more than ten yards away. William Warner’s Beautiful Swimmers accurately quoted long time crabber Howard of
Chrisfield’s Maryland Crabmeat Company, who said, ‘Only thing I know is that they can
crawl, swim, and bite like hell.’
Warner’s text is full of impressive facts, such as the blue crab's ability to
see ‘almost three hundred-and-sixty-degree vision' and being ‘superbly designed
for speed’. All these apparent facts
forced me to admit my hubris and accept that I could not engage this beast
again on my own. This denizen of the
deep would only be conquered with the help of an expert.
With
this in mind, I quickly made my way to a park ranger, who had set up a small
stand on the beach with a collection of artifacts depicting the broad range of
life along the shore. While I would
normally inspect each and every item with care, my attention was
focused solely on the long handled net leaning against the equipment behind
her. I quickly explained my plight and
she readily agreed to come to my aid.
Armed with my newly acquired net and a unique knowledge of my prey’s preferred
nesting area, I confidently waded back into the warm water of the bay. In a matter of mere minutes I spied another
carefully hidden specimen and, careful not to let over-confidence get the
better of me once again, I gently lowered the net towards to bottom. Spooked, the crab began to take flight, but
not quick enough. With a desperate lunge
I scooped my net in front of its path and heaved it from the water. As I brought it back to eye level I inspected
my net.
Victory! Nestled in the confines of the green mesh was
a beautifully colored Bell Crab, a close cousin to the famed Atlantic
Blue. I pumped my legs in the direction
of the shore, calling out to anyone within earshot, heralding my triumph. Emperors have never felt such glorious
pride! I spent the next several minutes
strolling about the shore, sharing my prisoner with all who cared to gaze upon
the mottled blues and reds of her spectacular form. Upon closer inspection I observed a spongy
orange mass on its underside, indicating that this was a female bearing
millions of tiny eggs nearly ready to be hatched and released into the bosom of
the sea. This caused me to reflect on
the tenacious effort of the crab to evade my attempts at capture. With only one
out of a million of her tiny eggs predicted to survive and grow to full
maturity, it was clear that these hardy little creatures
were adapted to propagate under the harshest circumstances. With a keen sense of respect and admiration,
I gently lowered this good mother into the inviting water and released
her. She simply hovered before me, as if
in comradely salute, before casually returning to her home at the bottom of the
deep.
“Farewell,
worthy adversary,” I thought to myself, “farewell and Godspeed.”
By Jim Mason
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